


Happily Ever After

by Azereaux



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Magical Realism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azereaux/pseuds/Azereaux
Summary: A rumour of a ghost that haunts a library turns out to be a villain from a book that needs help returning home.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 121
Kudos: 278





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My jump into Ferdibert!  
> Because they won't leave my brain and I really needed to get this out! The idea wouldn't leave me.

“I've seen him before, you know.” Linhardt stretches his arms up in the air, a yawn escaping him. “I saw him dashing to the other side of the shelves. I dropped whatever I was doing and left right after that.”

“You were near the children's section, are you sure it wasn’t just some child passing by?”

“Ferdinand, that is an _impressive_ child if he was that tall. He nearly reached the sixth shelf.” He yawns again. “Anyway, library's closing. You should check-out soon and head home.”

“Right– there is one more book I would like to grab. I will just be a minute.”

Linhardt waves him off. “Do me a favour and don't keep me late like last time, I want to go home and sleep.”

Ferdinand nods and heads toward the staircase leading to the third floor.

The library, located slightly above the heart of the city, is close enough to the subway line that Ferdinand takes home from work everyday. From the eyes of a pedestrian it was a quirky thing nestled between glass high-rise buildings and colorful fast-food restaurants. Depending on who you talked to, the building is a nightmare – an eyesore – that needs to wake up to the modern world, or it’s a building with dreams of luxury and progress; the exterior is loud in its art-deco construction with its concrete walls, high pillars, and rounded entrance way. Ferdinand doesn’t know what the building originally was for before it was remodeled – was it a jail? or something more mundane like an office? – but for him now, it is the library.

When he first discovered its location it was out of curiosity, a detour from his routine of travel to and from work to look around the building that crash-landed from his grandparents’ time. Then it became a matter of space – buying books was beginning to clutter his shelves, so he turned to borrowing from the library. Now almost a year since his discovery he had become a regular, the library staff knows him by name, and the most mystifying staff-member named Linhardt – though always tired with a will to go home – will _sometimes_ let Ferdinand loiter after hours. He must like Ferdinand enough to let him encroach on personal time.

It's this habit to stay until closing that has Linhardt elaborate on the supposed ghost that roams the fiction section on the third floor by the southern windows. Ferdinand has heard rumours, yes, of a dark figure that has been caught occasionally by staff and patrons, but to him it's just nonsense. Ghosts don't – most likely don’t – exist and he hasn't had any proof to tell him otherwise.

He climbs the staircase and makes it quickly past the fiction toward the social sciences, remembering the book he would like to take out. It's a little volume that he almost misses on the shelf, the second of three in its collection, about weaponry forging. When he grabs his book and begins his walk back to the staircase, Ferdinand can't help his curiosity and looks down into the aisles of the fiction section. There can't possibly be a ghost, can there? He occasionally reads up on his city's history, yet he wasn't able to find anything about an accident or a death in the building through old newspapers. Maybe then it's a straggler that refuses to leave past closing hours and was running away to avoid being kicked out. Or maybe it was a child despite Linhardt's observations; they could have gotten away from their parents, and ran up from the children's section near the staircase on the second floor.

But the aisles do seem awfully quiet, even with the lack of patrons at this time of night. Uncannily so. And the darkness at the far end of the shelves seem to be coming from more than just the shadows.

Ferdinand feels a chill go up his spine.

That's just nerves, Ferdinand tells himself, it's all nonsense. Linhardt's explanation is too fantastical, and he's always half-awake, he could have been dreaming the encounter. A straggler or a loose child makes the most logical sense.

Suddenly Ferdinand feels a hand on his shoulder and he spins around.

“ _Goddess_ Linhardt – you scared me.” Ferdinand's heart is pounding in his chest.

Linhardt taps on his phone screen, displaying the time.

“It's ten past closing, Ferdinand. I was afraid you got lost.” Linhardt stares down the aisle. “Or were you looking for more than just a book?”

“I wasn't going in exactly,” Ferdinand says, “I was just curious since I needed to pass by, and got lost in thought. It definitely feels eerie.”

“It definitely _is_ eerie. I've got goosebumps just thinking about it.” The sound of a creaking floorboard is heard. Linhardt tilts his head toward the staircase. “Let's go home, Ferdinand. Before the rumours are proven to be true... maybe a first time for you, but a second time for me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Grey. Ferdinand looks outside and all he sees is grey. Not just from the towering buildings of the business district where his work is located, or the drab colour of coats that seem to only be worn for the season, but the sky today is covered in clouds as well. It's autumn. The few trees along the streets are no longer beautiful reds and yellows and oranges, but the remaining leaves are shriveled on the ground and brown brittle husks barely holding onto branches.

He adjusts his scarf around his neck, and braces himself for the weather before stepping out of the glass office doors. This evening is windy, he realizes, feeling his long hair whipping against his face. His cheeks are already reddening from the chill. Thankfully the closest subway station isn’t very far from his work, only a five minute walk, but it is crowded on the waiting platform and unusually crowded when he makes it inside the car despite being past the five o’clock commuter rush. There’s a crying child piercing through the tired quiet of a Tuesday evening, and the man pushed too close in front of him smells a little funny with his damp wool coat.

On a good day it’s around thirty minutes by public transit for him to get home, but today seems rather slow and congested. To keep himself optimistic Ferdinand thinks about what will be waiting for him at home. He’ll settle down into bed after dinner with a cup of hot tea, and a book in his hand before he turns off his light to sleep – a much needed slow evening to end a busy day. The man with the damp wool coat exits and Ferdinand breathes in relief when the car empties, until a new wave of commuters pour in and pushes him further toward the opposite doors. Why is it so crowded on a Tuesday evening? He holds his laptop bag closer to his legs to give others more space.

He returns to thinking about his evening plans. Yes, a good tea and a good book – Ferdinand suddenly frowns. Can he even read tonight? When he thinks about it, he has finished reading the book he borrowed. He needs the next one. He could go to the library, but it’s late now and he is tired from working overtime. Maybe he can exclude reading tonight and just settle for the tea.

The doors open letting another flood of commuters out, but he laments the crowd he sees waiting to get inside. When Ferdinand realizes the station name, he asks himself does he want to get stuck again against the doors, or does he leave now and wait for the transit to calm down?

As the crowd outside begins to trickle in, he makes a quick decision.

\---

“That’s unusual,” Linhardt says, “you’re here late.”

“Last minute decision,” Ferdinand replies. “I pulled overtime but decided to come here instead of going home.”

“Overtime?” Linhardt repeats, like the word was foreign. “A hard worker then, aren’t you?”

Ferdinand smiles.

“I’m here to grab the next volume.”

“Well, I’m sure you know where to look.”

It’s almost committed to memory for Ferdinand when he walks on these stairs, he’s probably done it maybe a hundred times now if not more. He knows which step gives the loudest creak, which step feels a little sunken in (slightly worrying but nothing has happened and he hopes nothing ever will), and his favorite steps which still feel sturdy under his feet. The halfway point for him is when his eyes trail down to the bottom of a shelf on the third floor to a small, worn carving of a heart with indecipherable initials. Is it S+F? S+P? He doesn’t think he’ll ever know, and it doesn’t really bother him because maybe he’s not meant to. If someone carved it out of sight it was probably a secret love.

He reaches the social sciences. Here, Ferdinand thinks, if he needed to make a home anywhere in the library it would be here. He’d take a beanbag chair from the children’s section, one of the big soft red ones, and the marled yarn throw blanket Linhardt keeps around. There’s endless knowledge for him at his fingertips.

Except the one book Ferdinand is looking for. His finger brushes against their spines except the one he wants. He looks on the row above, the row below, and the shelf behind him. He frowns. It should be here, it was here a few days back when he last visited the library.

He heads to the front counter.

“The third volume,” Ferdinand says to Linhardt, “it’s missing. Did someone else take it out?” A shame, he was looking forward to starting it tonight.

Linhardt gives him a look.

“I can safely say I don't know another person who takes books home on medieval weapons forging. If they do, they're professors who look at the papers online.”

“So yes or…?”

Linhardt sighs.

“Fine, let me check for you. And… nope.” Linhardt motions for Ferdinand to come closer so he can see. He points at the screen. “One copy, no holds, should be there.”

“But I didn’t see it.”

Linhardt shrugs. “Check again. If it isn’t, it’s most certainly with you.”

When Ferdinand checks again he still doesn’t see the book. He expands his search to cover more shelves and still finds nothing. He frowns. He came to the library late, and in his mind Linhardt’s voice is repeating _near closing, Ferdinand it’s almost closing time_. His trip would be for naught if he left empty-handed, so where is it? He’s checked that shelf, and the one over there, what about –

Anxiety creeps over.

Still, it’s close to the stairs where he needs to go so he reasons nothing is stopping him from taking a quick look.

When he reaches the fiction, Ferdinand doesn’t know if it’s the rumours that make the place look more ominous than it is or if the lights really are dimmer, the spacing narrower, the stuffy smell of old books more prominent here. He looks down the aisles. No one there. All sounds seem to be swallowed except the humming from the fluorescent lights.

“It’s nothing,” Ferdinand mutters to himself. “Ghosts don’t exist.”

He takes a step into an aisle and waits. Nothing. So Ferdinand takes another step and waits. Then another. By now he’s striding deeper into the fiction and questioning why he was having such silly thoughts. It definitely wasn’t anything supernatural that had disturbed Linhardt, and before he leaves for the night he’ll tell him.

There are so many shelves, Ferdinand picks a random one and begins his search but finds nothing. He checks the one behind, the next shelf over, and still comes away empty-handed. Ferdinand has wandered even further down the aisles when from the corner of his eye he catches onto a little book that just looks different.

It looked old, much older than the others around it. It also appears to be slightly hidden, stuffed farther into the shelf with thicker books obscuring it from view on the very top row. Maybe it wasn’t what he was looking for, but he was curious.

Ferdinand stands on his toes and reaches, almost able to grab the book when a gloved hand grabs onto his wrist and stops him.

“Don't touch that,” the man says.

He’s about to yelp from surprise until a second hand covers his mouth, muffling his voice just in time.

“Mmf!”

The man leans down so he can speak directly into Ferdinand’s ear. He whispers, “Once you have calmed down, I suggest you leave that book alone and begone.” When he doesn’t get a response, his grip painfully tightens on Ferdinand’s wrist. “Understood?”

He can only nod.

A few seconds pass when Ferdinand’s breathing returns to normal and his heart stops racing. He supposes the man feels this too as he pulls away so Ferdinand’s mouth is no longer obscured. A few more deep breaths and he thinks he’s regained enough composure to speak without stammering.

“Who are you?” Ferdinand asks.

“It doesn't matter.” He sharply pulls Ferdinand's hand away from the book. “Just don't touch that.”

“Why?”

“Or I will dispose of you.”

Ferdinand fully turns around. The man has dark hair with a fringe that partially obscures one of his strikingly yellow eyes. But it’s his clothes that capture’s Ferdinand’s interest the most, it’s nothing he’s ever seen before outside of theatre with his dark cape and monochromatic uniform.

Annoyed by the answer and curious at the man’s appearance, the initial fear is being replaced in Ferdinand with boldness.

“In public? You'll never get away.”

“Surely I will.”

“Who are you?” Ferdinand asks again. “Are you the ghost?”

If it’s to be believed, now that he’s seen him, Ferdinand is not so scared anymore. He assumed the supposed ghost would appear and vanish, speak only in moaning whispers, stare at him with empty eye-sockets and a twisted neck. But he looked solid and real. _This_ was just a man – a quite rude one at that – who was wearing a period costume.

The man puts on an irritated frown.

“I am simply lost.”

“Lost from where?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t anything matter?” Ferdinand asks, irritated. “If you’re so lost do you need help?”

The man stares at him with an unreadable expression. Ferdinand begins to feel self-conscious and fiddles with his work ID card hanging from his belt loop. Then he seems to make up his mind as he reaches above Ferdinand’s head to the book and pulls it off the shelf, showing the cover. There is no title, only a faded maroon front that’s bent-marked and slightly curled at the edge, the spine fuzzy with wear. From what Ferdinand can see the paper seems to be yellowing, brittle with age.

“My name is Hubert von Vestra,” he begins, “and every night I’m banished from this book into this library.”

“You’re from this…?” He reaches out slowly. Hubert doesn’t seem to flinch, so he takes it as a sign he can take the book. “How does that even work?”

“Because the pages are missing in the back, and now this story is incomplete.” Then Hubert adds, “Do not make this knowledge or this meeting public, I do not want a swarm of the uncouth, thrill-seeking public to touch and ruin my home.”

“I don’t think you’re lost anymore,” Ferdinand says, “but I do think your mind is.”

“I assure you, this is the truth.”

“Assuming you are telling the truth…” Ferdinand begins to read.

It starts off like a basic fairy tale. _Once upon a time… three heroes… –_ Ferdinand skips a few pages, it’s quite a thin book– … _leave their village in search of the treasure that will help… –_ this should be in the children’s section with how it’s written, he thinks, why is it here? Then he skips a few more pages– ... _venture into the dark forest… in the castle waiting for them is –_

“You're the bad guy!”

" _Quiet_ ,” Hubert whispers sharply. He looks around to check for others before facing Ferdinand again. “In _their_ story. This book isn't about me.”

“Then who are you?”

“Will you help me or not?”

“But you’re the villain,” he repeats.

“Fine.”

Hubert snatches the book from Ferdinand’s hands and places it back hidden on the shelf. Then Hubert walks towards the maintenance closet. He takes what looks like a metal pin from his sleeve and pushes it into the keyhole before going inside, stepping over a half-fallen mop and sits on a turned bucket. Ferdinand sees Hubert flip up the base molding on the wall to reveal a small pile of books. Hubert rifles through and picks one up, turning it open to his bookmark and begins to read.

“Hey,” Ferdinand cries, “that’s the book I was looking for!”

“A shame,” Hubert replies.

Ferdinand frowns.

“Not only are you villainous, you’re petty as well.”

This makes Hubert look up from the page.

“I am not who you believe me to be.”

“But you aren’t a hero.”

This makes Hubert shut his book.

“Let me ask you something – can you tell me about the Renaissance period?”

“Of course,” Ferdinand confidently states. “Do you want to know about the politics? The great leaders? Or perhaps you mean to ask about –” Hubert holds up a hand.

“Now, can you tell me about any of those things you just prattled on about in Asia during the fourteenth century?”

Ferdinand sobers. “Well, I haven’t quite looked into that yet.”

“Then your knowledge is full of missing pieces.” Hubert re-opens his book and turns back to its pages. “That story is written from only one perspective, but it seems you’re quite content to live a fool’s life.”

Ferdinand has never felt more anger, and it took this man only minutes within meeting.

“Do you even hear how rude you are?” Ferdinand says.

“Barely, considering how loud you are.”

Ferdinand points his finger at Hubert. “You are _absolutely” –_ he purses his lips, a loss for words but wanting to finish – “ _absolutely irritating_.”

Hubert laughs.

“Amazing you took the extra time to think and still couldn’t form a word that conveys more… venom.” Hubert looks away from his book again, and smirks at Ferdinand. “Consider reading a book that will expand your mind as well as your vocabulary.”

“Maybe because there isn’t a word that exists to show the absolute loathing I feel.” Ferdinand crosses his arms. “At least I’m not shoving away a helping hand. Enjoy living in the maintenance closet forever.”

“I’m sorry but did you hit your head? Did you even extend a helping hand?”

“I could have if you weren’t a villain.”

“There are no heroes or villains. There is only which side of the story you’re on.”

“You won’t tell me the full extent of who you are, so I can only assume you’re hiding something unsavory.”

“It is not my wish to open up to everyone I happen to meet, especially not someone I’ve met for a few mere unpleasant minutes.” Hubert stands up, walks toward the doorway, and stops there. He grips the handle. “I wouldn’t want someone as small-minded as you around anyway. I’d rather wait another two years for someone with more” – he looks Ferdinand up and down – “competency.”

“I am _not_ small-minded.” Ferdinand says. “Why would I have reason to trust a man who threatened to dispose of me as a greeting? Maybe you’ve been stuck here because you lack the social etiquette to gain sympathy.”

Hubert hums in understanding. “You are correct. I will admit I am not the most approachable person. That may be my biggest flaw.”

Ferdinand is taken aback; he was ready for another fight.

“You’re agreeing with me?” Ferdinand asks.

“My pride is not so big that I can not admit to my shortcomings. The next person who finds my book, I’ll take your advice and be more approachable. Goodbye.”

Then Hubert shuts the door.

Ferdinand is left to stand – quite stunned – staring at the door. He hears a shuffling inside, and the plastic of the overturned bucket being scraped against the hardwood floor. Perhaps it is Hubert getting comfortable in the maintenance closet, Ferdinand thinks, when the scraping sounds stop and he only hears the faint rustling of a page – a page from _his_ third volume, the book he’s been searching for high and low.

Somewhere inside Ferdinand is feeling victorious; Hubert’s words may have been sharp as daggers, but it is Ferdinand who has the last laugh. And yet, he can’t help feeling his victory is a little empty. Maybe because Hubert had been right, he knows a lot less than he would like to believe. Maybe if he learned more about Hubert’s side of the story, or maybe if he could accept and admit to his own flaws instead of defending his ignorance, or…

No. He can leave. There isn’t a reason not to. He can take Hubert’s goodbye, let him wait for someone else to help him – someone with more _competency_ and with _less of a small-mind_ or isn’t _living a_ _fool’s life_.

Ferdinand bites his lip.

He moves closer toward the door so he can put his mouth near the crack. “Fine! I’ll help you.”

“Leave me, and stop mocking my predicament.”

“I’m serious, Hubert. I’ll help you.”

“Where did this change of heart come from?”

“Because you’re right.” Ferdinand hopes one day admitting that to Hubert will hurt a little less. “I haven’t been fair. I haven’t given you a chance.”

There’s a stretch of silence that follows, long enough that Ferdinand believes Hubert is simply ignoring him – maybe laughing silently, using Ferdinand’s own soft heart against himself. As the silence continues, and Ferdinand is now certain he’s being mocked and ready to walk away, the door opens again.

Hubert is smirking. “Did I really manage to get through that thick skull of yours?”

“Please don’t make me regret this.”

“Very well,” Hubert replies. “I accept your help with many thanks. What is your name?”

“Ferdinand.”

Suddenly there is a creaking noise, and they both turn their head in the direction of the staircase.

“It’s closing time.” The library is now quiet enough that Linhardt’s soft voice carries up the stairs as he walks closer. “Please tell me you’ve found your book.”

Ferdinand turns back to Hubert with wide eyes. “You should hide.”

“It’s fine.”

“What if Linhardt sees you?”

“He won’t, no one uses this closet anymore.” Hubert smiles. “It’s haunted.”

“Very funny.”

“Indeed it is.” Hubert grabs the handle. “Until next time, Ferdinand.”

“Wait,” Ferdinand says, “when will I see you again?”

“Every night,” Hubert replies, “until those missing pages are found, but never during the day. And if you happen to need me, well” – he pushes the third volume into Ferdinand’s hands – “you know where to look, I’ll be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry about the flaws, I tell myself.  
> YOU'LL NEVER POST IF YOU KEEP EDITING, I TELL MYSELF.  
> YOU'RE HERE TO HAVE FUN I YELL TO MYSELF !! The struggles of trying to post regularly...


	3. Chapter 3

Ferdinand still isn’t sure it’s real.

He’s been avoiding the library for weeks now. The idea of running into Hubert makes him feel awkward. How could he have believed someone can go from the pages of a fairy tale to modern life, and act so nonchalant instead of scared? How did he know what Asia and the Renaissance period was? He did seem to do a lot of reading – no, Ferdinand thinks. Stuff like that doesn’t happen in the real world. 

Maybe he was an actor that was paid to draw more people in; that explains the period clothing. Or what if he was making fantastic claims so he could continue living in the library – more precisely, the maintenance closet. It was isolated and with the rumours floating around, no one would go near it anymore. Perfect for a squatter – he should tell Linhardt so he can contact the authorities before Hubert does anything criminal. But whenever Ferdinand watches the news he sees nothing about an arrest, or an alert for someone missing.

He casually mentions fairy tales to his co-workers, if they read to their children before bedtime? He even researches online and finds only the typical stories like ‘Sleeping Beauty’ and ‘The Frog Prince’, and lesser known stories like ‘Death's Messengers.’ From what he remembers of his brief glimpse into the book there was something about three heroes, another thing about banishing him from the castle to collect a relic; there were too many similar stories but none that were exact, and he has even less to research since there was no known author nor a title.

Ferdinand is at a loss.

He feels guilty as well, too.

Over the weeks as the news articles _not_ headline the efforts of a maniac disturbing patrons in the library, Hubert seems less heinous and more harmless. A man lost in his own mind as a storybook villain, believed to be a ghost by everyone else who won’t go near him.

How could Ferdinand, ever the gentleman, leave him like this?

He goes to buy a meal from a restaurant near his apartment, and for a cold autumn day he decides on a hearty chicken soup. He asks for an extra slice of bread with more butter on the side, and a large hot tea. Ferdinand then rides the subway and exits when he reaches the library’s closest station.

He’s reciting what to say to Hubert in his mind as he continues up the steps. Are you okay? You know there are many programs in the city that helps individuals like you. I can recommend something. You asked me for help and I won’t go back on my word –

“Long time no see, Ferdinand.”

“Linhardt,” he responds in pleasant surprise. “I thought you didn’t work on weekends?”

“Bernadetta is sick.”

“You took someone’s shift,” Ferdinand says, incredulous. “ _You_.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Linhardt says. He holds up a finger. “But she only gets one.”

“How do you even keep your job?”

“I’m great at what I do.” Linhardt quirks an eyebrow at Ferdinand’s hand. “What’s in the bag?”

“Just some food I picked up.” Ferdinand moves closer to the counter. “If I may ask, did you ever encounter that ghost again?”

“Nope. I avoid the area when I can.”

“What about Bernadetta?”

“She’s never seen him, and she absolutely refuses to go there so she never will.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not recently, no.” Linhardt gives him a look. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I’m just curious,” Ferdinand replies, “maybe it isn’t a ghost at all.”

“If I’m understanding you correctly, we’re pretty good at spotting the outliers that aren’t here for the books,” Linhardt says, “but if you happen to see something let me know.”

Ferdinand nods.

When Ferdinand reaches the third floor he goes in the direction toward the south windows, then heads to the maintenance closet right beside. He lightly knocks on the door and waits. He hears nothing so he knocks again. “Hubert?” he asks in a whisper. “Are you there?” Still no answer.

Very slowly, Ferdinand begins to open the door. He peeks inside but doesn’t see Hubert, so he steps inside and shuts the door. There is only a dim, dying bulb hanging overhead giving the room some light. It’s quite chilly, Ferdinand thinks, there must be a crack somewhere letting in the draft. Maybe he should have brought a blanket as well – no, that’s too much and Hubert would never leave. The turned bucket is in the corner where Ferdinand remembers it being, and he imagines seeing Hubert sitting on it with his dark, imposing cape dragging across the floor in the dried soap scum.

Out of curiosity, Ferdinand wonders if it is still there. He places the paper bag and cup of tea on top of a stack of paper ream boxes, and sits on the bucket. He bends down so he can get a better look at the wall, fingers running across the bottom of the baseboard molding and trying to peel it away. When his fingers finally catch into a gap he accidentally pulls too hard and hears a slightly concerning crack, but he sees the pile of books hidden inside and doesn’t care. He’s more interested in knowing what Hubert reads than damage to an already damaged wall.

He pulls out three. The first book is about political reform during the French Revolution, and Ferdinand huffs in amusement when he sees the cover; he’s read this too, and a flit of irritation crosses his mind when he thinks about Hubert having the gall to tell him to read more when they have common ground. The second surprises him, a teen novel with a protagonist who lives in a small town, along with all the pains of growing up. He couldn’t imagine Hubert reading something so juvenile.

The third he recognizes as the little maroon book.

His thumb brushes over the bend in the cover, then over the edge of the pages. It feels more brittle than he remembers. He flips it around in his hand, inspecting the front and back covers and the spine. He holds it closer to the light, but he doesn’t see faded markings or any remnants of a title or an author.

“Ferdinand.”

He nearly falls backward onto the floor from his seat.

“ _Hubert_ ,” he says, with a hand over his heart, “you scared me. How did you get in here without me knowing?”

“Is it a game of yours to look through another’s belongings without consent?”

“Of course not, but these aren’t yours. They belong to the library.”

Hubert points to the books by Ferdinand’s shoes. “I couldn’t care less about those.” He points to his hand. “I meant that one.”

“This one? It’s from the library as well.”

Hubert frowns. “It does not – that is rightfully my book.”

It is not your book, Ferdinand thinks. But he stops himself from arguing back at the first breath of his sentence – suddenly he remembers why he is here. Instead he forces a smile. Hubert visibly recoils. Ferdinand ignores it.

“Please sit down.” Ferdinand stands up from his seat on the bucket. Hubert doesn’t move from the opposite wall. “I want to ask if you are truly okay?”

“As fine as I can be.” He narrows his eyes. “Where does this concern stem from?”

Ferdinand walks to the paper ream boxes, puts down the book to pick up the brown paper bag and the tea. “A gentleman couldn’t just leave someone to stay inside the maintenance closet of a library.”

“So you found the pages?”

“No, I haven’t. But” – he holds out the food – “are you hungry?”

“I don’t want your charity,” Hubert scoffs, “I want my book pages.”

Ferdinand is starting to forget the script he was practicing in his mind. His patience is already wearing thin and it has been less than five minutes.

“Stop pretending you’re from a book,” he snaps. “That type of stuff doesn’t happen in real life.”

Hubert visibly inhales and sets his jaw. “I am not pretending. I am not from your world.”

“You wanted my help and I’m going to give it to you. There are plenty of programs in the city –”

“Stop.” Hubert takes another deep breath. “What are you implying?”

Ferdinand places the food back on top of the boxes. “If you want my blunt honesty, fine. I’m just concerned that you’ve overstayed your welcome and if you aren’t willing to leave, I’ll have to contact the authorities.”

“You think I’m squatting.”

“You can’t pretend you’re a fairy tale character to live in the library forever, Hubert.”

“You really think I want to stay here? In some cramped closet when instead I could be back home every evening in my castle? I can not believe this absurdity.” Hubert holds out his hand, palm toward the ceiling. Something begins to form, the appearance like a viscous black liquid. It begins to pool in his palm, but before it can drip the liquid begins to evaporate and burn up, forming into a black flame, its edges a purple hue.

Ferdinand stares with wide eyes. The heat radiating off the flame makes him slowly back toward the door. “How are you doing that?” he asks.

“Because this is magic. Do you believe me now?”

“This can’t be real.”

“Look at me and look at you. Our clothes – is your clothes woven from the web of thousands of spiders that grant you the ability of the shadows? This magic – can you produce flames born from nothing and feeds from negative energy?”

Ferdinand looks at his own hands. “Of course not. That doesn’t happen –”

“In real life, yes I know. But that is more proof I’m not from your world.” The flame in Hubert’s hand grows larger, the room warmer. Ferdinand feels the sweat beginning to form on his forehead. “Say it Ferdinand, you believe me.”

He is staring at the middle of the flame. It is coal dark, almost as dark as Hubert’s cape which seems to blend with the shadows in the room.

“Fine! For now. I’ll believe you for now.” Ferdinand squints. Staring at the flame, even if it appeared near pitch black, is hurting his eyes. “You better not be lying to me.”

“Good enough.” Hubert extinguishes the flame between his clenched fist. He frowns. “To think I supposed during these weeks, that you were searching for the pages. To have my mind clouded with desperation instead of thinking with logic, I am clearly at fault for misplacing my trust.”

Ferdinand is rubbing at his eyes, and he blinks a few times before his vision stops feeling impaired. He then manages to look at Hubert.

“I’m not flaking on you,” Ferdinand says, hurt by the accusation. “I just thought it over and it didn’t make sense. In this world stuff like that doesn’t happen.”

“But it has.”

“Not _usually_ ,” Ferdinand corrects. “Tell me more about your book then. Who is the author? What is the title?”

“I do not know any of those things,” Hubert replies. “I just know this is my book.”

“Well, can you tell me more about yourself?” Ferdinand sees Hubert flinch. “Just so I can understand this mess better.”

“I’ve given you my name. What else do you need?”

“Well… why exactly were you cast out?”

“Not your concern.”

“It _is,_ Hubert,” Ferdinand says. “I want to know more. And you obviously don’t like when I try to read it.”

“All you need to know is magic was used to banish me, and now” – Hubert finally moves away from the wall to take the few steps toward Ferdinand and pick up his book – “this is where the story ends. It is incomplete. And that is why to return home I need those last pages for it to be whole again.”

“What if you lose?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When we find those missing pages and you go back, what if the story ends where you’re killed? Or still in banishment? The bad guys don’t win in these stories, you know.”

Hubert scowls.

“Stop referring to such simplistic notions of good and bad. You don’t know how this ends.”

“But I’m right then, aren’t I? You don’t know what happens either.” He pauses. "Without those pages, you don't remember."

“I’ve read your world’s books for the last two years, learned how mundane and drab it can be.” Hubert’s eyes trail around the maintenance closet, regarding the boxes and mop and stained walls with disdain.

“But aren’t you scared?”

“Whatever fate awaits me in my world is better than staying here.”

The room falls silent, and before Hubert can ask why he’s giving him such a look, Ferdinand recoups and breaks into a smile. He grabs the tea again from the box and holds it toward Hubert.

“I hope you’ll like this, even if it isn’t hot anymore.” Without any other options, Hubert grabs the cup from Ferdinand and takes a sip. “Well? What do you think? It’s one of my favorite tea blends.”

Hubert takes another sip and thinks. “I prefer coffee.”

“Not my drink of choice, but I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Ferdinand bends down to pick up the books on the floor and put them back into the hole. “While you’re stuck here every night, I’ll at least make sure you enjoy your stay. We can clean up a bit, move the mop out to give you more space.” Ferdinand points to a nail sticking out from the wall. “Maybe put a painting there. You’ll learn to love it here that you’ll never want to go back.”

He rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing to love in this place.”

“Hubert, stop being so pessimistic,” Ferdinand says. He takes a hair tie from his wrist, and puts his hair into a ponytail before rolling up his sleeves and pushing the paper ream boxes farther into the corner to open the space more. “You’ll find something to love here.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Thank yo– Rolf be careful!” Ferdinand says, and pulls the little boy upright before he trips. “You’re lucky the bean bag chair is soft, you could have hurt yourself.”

“Oh.” Rolf says.

“Not ‘oh’,” Ferdinand says, “promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

Rolf, reaching full height only to near Ferdinand’s waist, looks up at him. He pulls the collar of his shirt to his mouth and holds it there with his teeth.

“Okay?” Ferdinand asks again.

Rolf nods before walking off to sit on the floor and play with a stuffed bear, pulling at the red ribbon around its neck. Ferdinand shakes his head in resignation, though he is amused. The kids here are cute but destructive.

Since beginning his search in earnest to look for the missing pages he has traveled from the adult fiction to the children’s section. From memory, the writing was simple, and Ferdinand believes the book might have come from here. The children have begun to grow comfortable with him – follow behind him – asking questions like why is his hair so long? Can he read, because why isn’t he reading the grown-up books upstairs? What is his favourite book? Favourite character? Favourite food? Favourite underwear? It makes Ferdinand’s head spin, how they have so much energy to ask the oddest questions and the constant need to want his attention.

However, there is a positive – once they began to like him the children are helpful. I’m looking for book pages, Ferdinand told them, because being honest with kids is quite harmless compared to being honest with adults. Now sometimes they will help him carry books back and forth, or bring him random pieces of paper from the photocopiers and missing pages hidden under shelves or tucked into dusty corners (though, none he actually needs). He appreciates the effort nonetheless. He has brought it up to Hubert once, that he has unofficial helpers, and the grimace on his face never made Ferdinand bring it up again.

No worries. It doesn’t matter what Hubert thinks.

He’s looking at the page Rolf – a little boy whose brothers brought to the library almost every weekend – has given him. It’s around the same size as Hubert’s book, but when he reads the text it’s not what he’s looking for. This is a page from an instruction manual. Though it is yellowing, the paper definitely isn’t as old as the one in the maroon book.

Ferdinand sighs in defeat, running a hand through his hair. He’s been looking on-and-off for weeks now, dedicating a few hours after work and some of his weekends – like this one – but there hasn’t been any progress. Sometimes he manages to catch Hubert, other times he leaves before the evening. On those days, he’ll grab a pen and use one of the sticky-notes he stole from work to write a message and stick it to the inside of the maintenance closet door to let Hubert know he was there that day, and he hasn’t given up.

“Did I find it?” Rolf asks.

“Not this one,” Ferdinand replies. “Thank you, though. I bet you made one book much happier by finding this.”

Rolf smiles and goes back to playing with the teddy bear.

Ferdinand goes to the front desk.

“Found another missing page,” he says, holding it out.

“Where do you keep finding these?” Bernadetta asks as she takes the page from him.

“The children keep finding them for me,” he responds, “I am teaching them how to care for the library.”

“Thank you Ferdinand,” Bernadetta says. “It looks like the children really like you, have you considered volunteering?”

“I have thought about it, doing community service here. But recently I am quite busy with a personal project. Maybe when this is finished I will consider it more seriously.”

“Whenever you’re free just let us know. We’ll accept any help we can get. Especially me.” She shivers. “Bernie doesn’t like being face-to-face with crowds, I prefer the safety at my desk here with my computer.”

Ferdinand suddenly gets an idea.

“Speaking of computers, Bernadetta, is it possible to lookup a book for me? From a description?”

“Um… maybe?” she responds. “What are you looking for?”

“It’s a book with three heroes, something about a castle in the forest… oh! There was also a relic inside they needed and that’s all I know.” Ferdinand shrugs. “Also the villain can cast magic. And his clothes are woven from the webs of spiders that grant him the ability of the shadows.”

Bernadetta slowly nods her head. “That’s an oddly detailed description about his clothes, but alright. Let’s see what we can do.” Bernadetta is muttering to herself as she begins her search. And searches. And searches. She frowns. “I got about four-hundred results for searching three heroes, about eighty for searching castle in forest, nineteen results for villain magic, and none for spider clothing ability of shadows.”

“Well that’s disheartening.”

“If you don’t remember the title, do you know the author?”

Ferdinand shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. But I will keep searching.”

“If you find out more about your book let me know and we’ll try again.”

“Thank you, Bernadetta.”

Ferdinand walks away, but instead of going back to the children’s section he walks past and up to the third floor toward the maintenance closet. When he goes inside he sits on the stool – Ferdinand had brought one even though Hubert refused to use anything else but the bucket, so now it is his guest stool – and runs a hand through his hair. He sighs. Ferdinand didn’t believe this would be so difficult, how hard was it to find the missing pages or even a second copy of the book? Then he would be able to make photocopies of the ending or do _something_ other than sit and be frustrated and tired.

Ferdinand checks the time. It is almost five o’clock. Hubert will be here soon. The library closes at half past five, and he doesn’t mean to take advantage of Bernadetta’s skittish-ness, but he knows unlike Linhardt she will not kick him out of the library at exactly closing. On weekends he can take his time with Hubert. Though he can be rather distant, Ferdinand finds Hubert can be good company; his wit is quite amusing when it isn’t directed at himself.

Ferdinand closes his eyes and tries to stay positive. If he thinks about finding the pages as less of an obstacle and more of a challenge he can stay motivated. Challenges are something to overcome, to better himself. Besides, it made him more familiar with the other sections of the library instead of just the history and the social sciences. He’s expanding his scope.

“Are you sleeping?”

Ferdinand opens his eyes.

“I am exhausted,” Ferdinand says. “I’ve been searching for a better portion of the afternoon. I haven’t had any luck.”

“So still missing.” Hubert scowls. “How unfortunate.”

Hubert moves to sit on the bucket and crosses his arms, but doesn’t do much else beyond staring at the painting Ferdinand had put on the wall. Ferdinand enjoys seeing the galloping horse in a vast field, while Hubert couldn’t care less about it. Still, Hubert has not taken it down.

“How has your day been?” Ferdinand asks.

“Fine, until now.”

“I see.” He leans back against the wall. “Perhaps you want to talk about it?”

“Hm.” Hubert grunts, but doesn’t say anything else.

It is silent again. Though Ferdinand is slightly offended by Hubert giving him a cold-shoulder, he gets over it quickly – it is not the first time Hubert has behaved like this, and he knows it certainly won’t be the last. Instead, Ferdinand focuses on being grateful for the silence as he recovers from his exhaustion, which is less physical and more mental. He needs to relax, slow down his mind. After a few minutes of them both staring at the painting, Ferdinand reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone to check the time. It is now less than half an hour to closing.

From the corner of his eye he catches Hubert staring, and Ferdinand looks up to make eye contact. Hubert looks away back at the painting.

“Are you feeling well?” Ferdinand asks. He’s never seen Hubert look so jittery before.

A moment passes – then Hubert turns to look back at him. He shifts in his seat, and he seems to want to say something, until he tentatively points to Ferdinand’s hand.

“I’ve… always wondered what that is.”

“This?” Ferdinand holds his hand up.

“Yes.”

“Oh! This is my phone.” Ferdinand swipes in his pass code. “It’s near impossible to live in this world without one – at least where we are.”

“Why are you always looking at it?”

Ferdinand shifts his stool closer to Hubert. “This lets me contact other people, allows me to access a range of information, and other things. I can reply to my work emails from this too.”

“How long does it take? To contact others?”

“As soon as I click this button. Here, let me show you.” Ferdinand pops up a chat and begins to type. “And there, my message is sent.”

“It doesn’t take days?”

“Not in this world, no.” Ferdinand glances away from his screen to look at Hubert. His eyes are slightly widened, but then Hubert swiftly collects himself back to usual.

“I see,” Hubert says.

“Do you want to know anything else?” Ferdinand says, suddenly eager. This is the most interest he has witnessed Hubert show in anything. “I can show you. I assume you don’t have things like this where you’re from.”

“We do not have developments like yours, no.”

“From my understanding, you’re most likely from the medieval period. Knights and castles, that sort of thing.”

“From your frame of reference, yes. But with real magic, not hysteria.”

“Indeed. Can’t believe you’d want to return to such a simplistic time.”

Hubert’s eyes narrow.

“I’m sorry, what do mean?”

“Well, it just seems we both agree the medieval period didn’t have the developments we have now.” He shrugs. “We have a better understanding of technology, education, politics–”

“If I may interrupt, I wouldn’t make such bold assumptions. While there are similarities, where I am from is far different than what is inside your history books. It is not as _dirty_ and _barbaric_ as I believe you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything of the sort,” Ferdinand responds. So much for relaxing, he thinks. His mind starts racing again when he hears Hubert’s tone. He crosses his arms, not sure why he feels defensive as well. “But modern times factually has a better standard of living.”

Hubert sits up straighter in his seat. “I wouldn’t be using such a smug tone when you are still suffering from war and inequality here as well.”

“ _My_ tone? Excuse me, but consider how you sound as well.”

“Self-righteous, arrogant, biased. After all these weeks you haven’t changed, not one bit.” Hubert huffs. “From the moment you mentioned it, these mere differences were just a front for a superiority complex.”

“Hubert, it was not and still not my intention to be rude.”

“Then just shut up.”

Neither Ferdinand or Hubert will avert their eyes from glaring at the other.

“Couldn’t you have just said I was making you uncomfortable instead of telling me to shut up? I would have stopped and apologized.”

“Oh please, Ferdinand. Don’t think you’re important enough to make me uncomfortable, that’d be giving you too much credit.”

“Why are you always so cold?” Ferdinand inhales a deep breath, trying not to escalate his mood further. “I’ll be honest with you, Hubert. These past few weeks have been grueling. I have tried to stay positive while I search for something that I am unsure even exists, dedicating my extra time for someone who doesn’t bother to say thank you most nights. I understand you’re frustrated, but maybe some of my own frustration with you is finally leaking out.”

“Only a few weeks of pressure and you’re cracking already? Try a few years.”

Ferdinand gathers the coat he had left on the floor into his arms before sharply rising from his seat.

“Is this a contest for you? Who can be the most miserable? At least you don’t have to put with – with yourself!”

“Yet, I’m starting to believe I was better off alone.”

“My intentions were not to belittle you, Hubert, so stop treating it as such. I only wanted to help you understand this world better.”

Hubert finally rises from his seat.

“Stop making assumptions about _mine_.”

Ferdinand purses his lips into a thin line. He’s using the very last shreds of willpower to stop himself from escalating the situation, but how much Ferdinand wants to have the last words – keeping them in his mouth instead of spitting them out is like trying to swallow bitter medicine. He wants to hear Hubert apologize, realize how much it drains Ferdinand to put up with him, his sarcasm, how much pain it was to search through hundreds of books and loom down aisles for hours without gratitude.

He opens his mouth, the words ready on his tongue, that he’s giving up and Hubert can look for his own pages.

“It is closing time, so _goodbye_.”

And Ferdinand walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to post regularly!!
> 
> &Points if you recognize Rolf !!!  
> Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn was my childhood. ;3;


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep my momentum.  
> Just !!! Keep !!! Writing !!!

It is Thursday.

Ferdinand can't focus on his work. He's reading the same email over and over, keeps flipping through the stacks of papers on his desk without doing much else except ruin his organized pile, and needlessly checks upon the quarterly calendar taped to his wall – yes, he’s well-aware of the looming deadlines but now he has them accidentally committed to memory.

The whole week has been like this. His fight with Hubert keeps him up at night, tossing about in bed over what he did and didn't say. When he manages to sleep, it's only to wake up and remember again. When he eats, his stomach turns into a knot and he manages only a few bites before his appetite is gone. At work he's been doing overtime, slugging slowly through his tasks and making unusual mistakes only to catch them later and has to re-work his files. Was he in the wrong? Was Hubert wrong? What should he have said? Should he apologize? Then he would have to go back.

He needs a break. Another one.

Ferdinand closes his laptop, and grabs his empty mug from his desk. He has refilled his tea twice already and this will be his third time. As he makes his way to the lunch room he has to skirt around his co-worker bent down at the vending machine, and forces a smile to another person passing by in the opposite direction. When he gets there, someone is already using the water kettle, and he almost decides to take the extra walk to the smaller kitchen until he recognizes who it is. Perfect timing. This is just the person he needs to talk to. He walks up beside and gently smacks his free hand against the counter to get her attention.

“Am I arrogant?” Ferdinand asks. The question has been eating at him for days, and he can hold it back no longer.

“What?” Dorothea startles slightly in surprise, almost spilling her tea in the process. She turns to Ferdinand before sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, but did I hear your question right?”

“I asked if I was arrogant.”

She gives him a look, her bright green eyes shining in sympathy.

“Oh, Ferdie.” Dorothea places her hand gently on top of Ferdinand’s. “Who did you meet?”

“How did you…?”

“No one ever asks that question without meeting someone first.”

“I didn’t meet anyone. I mean – I did, a few weeks ago. But not that way. Not what you’re implying.” Ferdinand clears his throat. “What I mean is, a few weeks ago I met someone and we recently got into an argument. He called me arrogant and it just struck something inside.”

“Well, how much of the truth do you want to know?” Before Ferdinand can reply, Dorothea grabs Ferdinand’s cup from his hand and refills it before ushering him along with a nod of her head to a table. She places the cups down as she sits in a chair. “How much does it bother you?”

“Quite a bit,” Ferdinand replies. He walks over to Dorothea and sits at the seat across from her. Instead of facing her, he stares into his cup at the teabag nestled at the bottom and the steam rising up. It’s not his preferred blend, but work is providing it for free. “We only see each other a few times – if we see each other at all – so saying something like that is… well, he didn’t have to know much about me, or know me for long to make that assumption. And his tone” – Ferdinand is getting worked up as he speaks, and he frowns – “it was so callous. How can someone think their opinion matters if they fall short of humility themselves?”

Dorothea sharply points at him. “And there it is.”

“Huh?” Ferdinand looks at her. “There’s what?”

“That. The arrogance.”

“What? How?”

“Well.” Dorothea sits up straight, crosses her arms. “Ferdie, let me start this off by saying you are a gentleman and a giant sweetheart. But sometimes you are so full of yourself and your opinions.

“You tend to disregard what someone else is saying with _such_ an attitude. No, no – close your mouth. Don’t fight me on this. Hush for a moment. Anyway, even if your intentions are good it’s lost because of your tone. This is why I’m HR and you’re not. You need to learn to deliver your message better, and open yourself to other experiences.”

“Oh.”

Dorothea quirks an eyebrow in amusement.

“‘Oh?’ Wow, Ferdie.” She takes a sip of her tea. “I’m impressed by your communication skills. You’re already on your way there.”

“Of course that isn’t all I’m thinking,” Ferdinand replies, “I’m just surprised no one’s ever tried to tell me before.”

“Your mystery man apparently is.”

Ferdinand sighs.

“I guess he is.” He briefly plays with the handle of his mug before he takes a small sip of tea. “You know that’s what he told me the first time we met too, that I should broaden my mind.”

“He did?”

Ferdinand slowly nods his head. “Of course, I barely knew him then so I didn’t quite listen. But you, Dorothea, hearing the same thing from a good friend. It’s putting the pieces together for me.”

Dorothea leans back in her chair, and taps one of her ruby-painted nails on the table. She’s gazing out the window. It is a cold day today, made worse by the wind, which is howling through the trees loud enough that they can hear it from inside.

“You know, when I first transferred here I didn’t like you either.”

"You didn't exactly keep it a secret.”

“Well, you were just… so much. Don’t get me wrong – if you ever had an issue I would take you seriously, personal feelings isn’t something I’m going to lose my job over. But you do carry yourself with just a _bit_ too much pride sometimes. It’s like you need to be on a pedestal first before talking to anyone so you can look down. Of course, I tried to give you a chance and I’m incredibly thankful I did. I do mean it when I call you a sweetheart, just you can also be a bit of a bonehead too.”

“Bonehead?”

“ _Yes_ , I’m choosing to use that word.”

Ferdinand smiles softly.

“Thank you, Dorothea. I’m glad to know there’s some hope for me.” He grabs his cup of tea and begins to rise from his seat. “I should have a lot to reflect upon now.”

“What – that’s it?” Dorothea asks suddenly. She quickly reaches for Ferdinand’s cup and places it back down on the table. “Hold on, you can’t leave yet.”

“But we have work to do.”

“Yeah, but you can’t tell me you’re going to go back to work for the next” – she glances at the clock on the wall – “three hours after telling me something so fascinating.”

“I… I don’t understand?”

“Sit back down, Ferdie.” She waves her hand back at his seat. “Who is this man? How did you meet?”

“O-oh.” Ferdinand blushes. He sits. “That’s what you mean.”

“Of course that’s what I mean.” She leans in, her hands under her chin. “Who is the man whose opinion you hold so highly?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put that way. We just happened to meet at the library.”

Dorothea’s eyes are shining.

“The library? So this is a meet cute type of scenario?”

He thinks about how Hubert grabbed him from behind, gloved hand over his mouth, whispered threats into his ear. He thinks about the fight afterward, and the next one after, and the next one. Ferdinand shakes his head.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why do you still see him then?”

Ferdinand begins to think about how to spin the truth.

“We’re both regulars at the library, so I always end up seeing him a few times a week. He enjoys mocking my literary choices – mind you he’s a hypocrite, I’ve seen him take out books I have read.”

“Ooh, he’s teasing you.” Dorothea reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls out her phone. Her fingers are poised for typing. “What does he look like? Does he use social media?”

“He doesn’t care for it.” Ferdinand sorely wants to tell Dorothea the truth, but he promised to keep Hubert’s secret. “And he looks… fine? I guess. Tall. Black hair.”

Dorothea slowly nods. “Tall, dark, and handsome. Got it.”

“What – no.” Ferdinand puts his fingers to his temple. How does he explain Hubert? Definitely not traditionally attractive, but not sore on the eyes either. “He… his features are very unique.”

Dorothea pouts. She puts her phone back into her pocket.

“You can’t say something like that and tell me you have no photos.”

“Please, Dorothea! We are not together and never will be. Right now he is a plague on my existence.”

“Right right, sorry. I got carried away.” She smiles. “It’s just that, I’ve never seen you so lost before – the Ferdie I know is usually so sure of himself. But now Mr. Tall Dark and Unique comes into the picture and makes you question the worst parts of yourself.”

“I still wouldn’t put it that way exactly…”

“However you want to put it hopefully you listen to him. It may be for the better.” She looks at the clock. “Okay, _now_ we should get back to work.”

“Oh, that is later than I thought.” Ferdinand rises from his seat once more. “Thank you for listening to me, Dorothea.”

“Let me know how it goes,” she says. She winks at him. “Send me photos.”

“We are not–!” But whatever Ferdinand has to say doesn’t matter. She’s already gone out of earshot, her heels clicking down the hall opposite of where he needs to go.

Despite her teasing, Ferdinand goes back to his desk feeling a lot lighter after the conversation, and it is like a weight is lifted off his chest. He doesn’t have to do the overtime he was planning on because he can finish replying to these emails now. The charts are now organized again, and a few of them have been looked over, noted as unneeded after his meeting about updates, and tossed into the recycling. Being able to clear off some of the paperwork on his desk felt great. Even the printer is working smoothly – another positive to the day. Ferdinand has a much clearer mind, feels more focused, and is in a much better mood.

At five o’clock he walks by Dorothea’s desk to say thank you once more before leaving. He thinks he can face Hubert now – but not today. He doesn’t go to the library but heads straight home. He still needs some time for himself.

When he makes it inside his apartment Ferdinand hangs up his coat, and takes off his shoes before lying down on the sofa. He doesn’t bother to turn on any music or watch any shows, but decides to enjoy the silence. He didn’t realize how much stress he had given himself all week until today, but now that his mind wasn’t constantly buzzing with worry from what he did and didn’t say he can focus on what to do now.

First, Ferdinand hasn’t given up on Hubert – that was a good start. A few days ago the words had been on the tip of his tongue but he is glad he didn’t say it. Second, he will consider broadening his perspective; Ferdinand didn’t realize how narrow – the word ringing through his mind in Hubert’s voice – he could be. When he considers it, of course Hubert is frustrated. Ferdinand would be too if he was home and in the blink of an eye found himself in a place where he didn’t know the customs or the people or the world, with the only comfort being a disused closet with a dim light bulb and a bucket for a chair. Third, he will apologize.

Ferdinand hasn’t quite thought out what he will say.

He at least has tonight to think it through because tomorrow – Ferdinand decides – is when he will see Hubert again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you see I put in some of my own frustrations in here...  
> Printers never work, and yet we have the technology to put people on the moon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn is no longer just a pile of flammable material, now we getting a spark. :Y

It is an unusually cold autumn day. In the morning it had lightly snowed and dusted the tree branches and the sidewalks with a thin layer of white that had melted by the afternoon – now, there is only a bitter wind that whips through the evening air, messing Ferdinand's hair into his face. His hands – even with the warmth provided by his gloves – are tucked firmly into his coat pockets as he climbs the library steps.

Linhardt gives a little wave to Ferdinand when he walks through the doors.

"Oh my, your cheeks are absolutely flushed. Is it really that cold outside?"

"Very much so," Ferdinand says, “I almost regret coming here instead of going straight home.”

"At least you have a choice," Linhardt replies, and then he suddenly furrows his eyebrows. “By the way, is everything alright Ferdinand? Bernadetta told me on the weekend you stormed out of the library."

Ferdinand winces. "She saw that?"

"Of course, she's right by the front doors. The poor girl was beating herself up, saying she was being too bold by asking if you wanted to volunteer. Now she thinks you're mad at her."

"Of course I'm not mad at her! I've given it some thought myself before she even asked."

"I know, I said that too. But it's better to have the words straight from the source. I'll let her know."

"Thank you, Linhardt."

He shrugs. "I'm just doing my job."

"To keep the library functioning smoothly?"

"Just as a friend."

Ferdinand takes his time – slowly climbing up the stairs to the third floor – using the journey to rehearse and think. He has been a regular at the library for maybe a year; there were definitely more people than him who have been coming here for years and years. Maybe even decades longer than Ferdinand has been alive. And yet, he can’t help but wonder why it was him – on a whim one day to check out the city’s largest library – of all people who got pulled into the chaos that was one Hubert von Vestra’s search to find the missing pages of a children’s storybook. If Hubert had been here for years, how many others had he encountered? Has anyone else tried to help? Maybe no one, considering the rumours of the ghost had been around all this time.

As expected when he arrives at the third floor fiction, not a single person other than himself is within the aisles, so Ferdinand takes a little bit of time to compose himself outside the closet door. He takes off his gloves and stuffs them into his coat pocket, and then hangs his scarf on his arm. Finally he knocks, but there is no answer.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, “I know you’re there.”

He waits outside the door with no answer for another minute, until Ferdinand decides to just let himself in.

As expected, Hubert is sitting inside. There is a book on his lap, and he doesn’t even bother to look up from his page when Ferdinand shuts the door behind.

“Good evening, Hubert.”

“Go away.”

Instead, Ferdinand takes the few steps toward the stool and sits down. “I’m not here to fight.”

It has only been nearly a week since he was last in this closet, yet he looks around the room like he hasn’t been here in months. Has anything changed? The guest stool is still here, and even the small painting of the galloping horse is on the wall. Ferdinand was positive Hubert would have taken it down by now.

He looks at Hubert, who still doesn’t look up. He turns the page. Ferdinand is trying to take a peek at the cover, but he can’t quite make out anything except that it is blue.

The silence continues.

Ferdinand hasn’t been able to rehearse enough. Last night was the first in the week he was able to sleep without waking suddenly, and work was busy with him trying to make up for lost time when he was distracted. Will he say enough? Or worse, will he end up just babbling nonsense without getting his point across? As the silence continues, Ferdinand is slowly losing his courage. He should have chosen another day.

As if a blessing in disguise, the loud yell of a child startles them both. Hubert quickly turns away from the book to look at the door. They can hear the mother’s scolding – stop misbehaving, she speaks in a sharp tone, you’re disrupting others.

When the child’s yelling recedes, Hubert turns away from the door and makes eye contact with Ferdinand. He holds the gaze for a moment before turning back down to his book.

Ferdinand will take what he can get – and what he can get is this small, accidental acknowledgement of his existence.

Ferdinand’s voice is quiet; he is afraid speaking any louder might scare Hubert away. “Hubert, as I said before I’m not here to fight. I’ve had the week to reflect and ask myself some questions, and with a little help I was able to form an answer. You don’t need to respond, but if you can listen to me please.” Hubert does not speak, and Ferdinand will gamble that as consent. He inhales a deep breath, exhales slowly. “I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be in your situation, but I tried to imagine it. And it’s hard, isn’t it? You aren’t even given the opportunity to try and move on with your life when you’re always pulled back to what you’ll miss, and every day is just an anxious waiting game.

“I will admit to taking offense when you said there is nothing for you here; how could you think this place is so empty when this is where all of my own happiness and memories are made? But that’s exactly why I was offended – I was selfish. Because it is my world, I believed you should share the same opinion that it is better here, and yet your world is where you’ve made all your memories. I failed to recognize that.

“In the beginning I thought you were rude, cold, and distant – I didn’t consider your frustrations. If anything you’ve been patient for these few years, calm despite your situation, and trusting; why else would you reveal your secret without some hope I could help you? I don’t want to betray that. So I’m sorry, Hubert. Even if it wasn’t my intention I was insensitive. And if you still want my help, I will provide it.”

Ferdinand has said all he wanted to say.

He anxiously clenches his hands into fists in his lap.

Hubert turns the page of his book.

He sits a moment longer, wondering if Hubert will say anything – even just to tell him to leave, or insult him for being sentimental. He wants Hubert’s usual self back. But when he still doesn’t respond, Ferdinand thinks he understands. He doesn’t feel mad, only feels his heart sink a little.

“Thank you for listening,” Ferdinand says, even if he isn’t sure Hubert had been listening at all. “I wish you the best.”

He rewraps the scarf around his neck, puts on his gloves, and stands up from his seat. He takes the few steps needed to cross the room to the door. Inside, Ferdinand desperately wants to turn around to face Hubert, wondering if they would accidentally catch gazes, wondering if Hubert was thinking the same thing, to take one last look at each other before parting ways for good. But he is more determined than sentimental, and Ferdinand’s hand goes to the door handle.

“My castle, as you can imagine, is much larger than this.”

Ferdinand stills. His memory is a little hazy but he remembers reading that line, and he nods. “Your castle in the forest.”

“While I don’t care much for flowers, it is nice to know there’s patches of them that grow around my home. I don’t go up there often but from the tallest tower you can see the lake. And across the lake, there are mountains.”

Ferdinand is imagining what it would be like. He would wake up to sunlight streaming through the open window on a summer day, a warm breeze on his face. Unlike Hubert, his bedroom would be in the tallest tower so he can see the light glimmering off the lake everyday, and see the mountains a hazy blue in the distance. At night he’d look at the stars above and listen to the crickets chirping below.

“It sounds breathtaking.” Ferdinand means it.

He turns away from the door. Hubert still isn’t looking up from his book.

“I also have my own library,” Hubert continues. “There is a chair I always use, the fabric on the seat is wearing thin from how many hours I spend in it. I read until the daylight is gone, but I never need to leave my chair because I can do this.” Hubert holds out his hand, and a little flame appears in his palm just like before. This one though is not black and purple, it is the colour of fire that Ferdinand is familiar with.

“How big is it?” Ferdinand asks.

He extinguishes the flame in his hand. “Similar to this one, if you include the bookshelves in the other rooms and halls outside of my main library.”

“That’s lovely.”

“It is pleasant. It is why this place, even if I am confined to one room, is familiar to me.” Hubert finally looks up. There’s something soft in his expression Ferdinand can’t quite place. “I have been unfair as well. I am frustrated and it manifested into disrespect – I insulted you, believing you’d smile through anything with your seemingly relentless optimism. I was wrong. There are lines I should not cross, offenses I know you did not mean but I still decided to fight you on. For that, I apologize.”

Ferdinand steps away from the door. The guest stool – where he usually sits – is by the wall a little too far away from where Hubert is, so instead Ferdinand sits on the floor beside him with his knees drawn up to his chest. They haven't ever been this close to just feel the other’s presence. From here, Ferdinand can see how deep the weariness in his eyes are, and the tired frown of his thin lips. He notices the little scuffs of dirt on the fingertips of Hubert’s gloves. From here, he could reach out and touch Hubert's hand if he wanted to.

“I’ll bring you home,” Ferdinand says. “I promise.”

“I trust you.”

Hubert puts the book in his lap down onto the floor. He reaches into the little hiding space for his books to pull out the little maroon one. Hubert stares at the cover for a moment, running his fingers over where the title usually is, before he opens it to the back.

Ferdinand recognizes his own writing. Every single note he has stuck on the door – the days where he was searching through the library but didn’t see Hubert – is inside. They almost cover two whole pages worth of space.

“I didn’t know you held onto them,” Ferdinand says. “I thought you’d just throw them away.”

Because to him that’s exactly what they were – bits of writing on stolen paper to be discarded once the message was delivered. He didn’t think much about it, if he thought about it at all.

“Understand that I am not a man of saccharine words, but my appreciation for what you are doing is not unnoticed.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still aliive~  
> This one and the next chapter will be a little shorter than usual (I think), but it's because we're moving into Phase Two of the MCU lol.  
> I actually had to think long about how to do this shift;;;

If asked, Ferdinand would describe his current relationship with Hubert as a type of labour; it was hard, tiresome, blue-collar work. But it was necessary work. Neither of them had set any rules or made clear an agreement, but without needing words they both understood what had to be done and began to work on the plans. Whatever pieces had made their old relationship – the cold shoulders, the bottled resentment, the back-and-forth insults – they were leaving it behind and taking only the usable pieces to build their new foundation.

He can see the results. Hubert used to barely acknowledge Ferdinand’s presence until pestered for a response, but now Hubert has been saying hello the moment they meet and it makes Ferdinand feel like a person rather than a tool for his use. Ferdinand, in turn, has been more mindful of the long silences; he isn’t ignoring me, Ferdinand would remind himself, Hubert just preferred to speak when there was something to say instead of wasting time on small talk. And even if Ferdinand wasn’t sure yet if he could say with confidence that he _liked_ Hubert, at least they were on more amicable terms.

Now going to the library has begun to feel less like a duty and more of a pastime again. If he was being honest, going to the library has become more enjoyable because of Hubert. Not just his wit, but even his silence has become a sense of calm for Ferdinand after a day of racking his brain for the right words to answer phone calls and emails. Even if Hubert was expecting something from him – unfortunately he hasn’t found those pages yet – it didn’t feel the same as when his co-workers expected something.

In Ferdinand’s opinion, Hubert has also been more open – at least when it comes to asking questions. He still doesn’t know much about the man himself but this is progress, Ferdinand thinks, that he’s being trusted to provide the answers about this world, all the little bits and pieces he’s read in books over the years but never understood; it’s all finally making sense.

“So that is also a vehicle.”

Ferdinand swipes again on his phone. “This one too.”

Hubert points. “Why does that one look so different?”

“This is used for a specific job. Not one that people drive around to get from one place to the other.”

“Can you drive?"

“I have my license. But it's not worth driving around in the city.”

“How so? The convenience seems more beneficial than taking your…”

"Subway. It’s annoying to drive around in the city. Too many crazy drivers, and people who don't obey the signs and just cross wherever. I wouldn't know what to do if I accidentally hit someone. I would probably go mad with guilt."

“I see.” Hubert watches Ferdinand put the phone back into his pocket to leaf through a book. “I thought you said you were going to rest?”

“I’m giving my feet a rest from walking,” Ferdinand responds, “not that I’m resting from searching.”

Hubert raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’ll find something of use wedged between the pages of _One Hundred Greatest Baking Recipes from Around the World_?”

“To be honest, I’m not quite sure. But I’ve covered so much of the library and I’m running out of the obvious places that maybe I’ll have luck thinking outside the box.”

“While I appreciate the dedication, you did say you needed to rest. You’ll be of no use if you’re burnt out before closing time.”

Ferdinand puts down the book and picks up another – _Appetizers: Small Bites with Big Flavours_. He begins leafing through the book as he says, “And I almost thought you were concerned for my well-being.”

“Your well-being is tied into that suggestion.”

“Consider me accidentally conditioned to keep searching.” He puts down the book and picks up another cookbook. “I’m surprised Hubert, are you asking me not to look?”

Hubert sits up straight. “Nothing of the sort. Continue what you’re doing.” He turns back to his own book. “What is a latte?”

“It’s a drink made with milk and coffee.” Suddenly Ferdinand’s eyes shine with enthusiasm. “You didn’t quite like the tea I brought last time. I’ll bring you a latte to try.”

Hubert dismisses the idea with a lazy wave of his hand. “That is unnecessary.”

“But why?”

“I have nothing to offer you in return.”

“You don’t need to give me anything,” Ferdinand says. “I’m offering because I want to, not because I expect anything back.”

“Your help is all I’ll ask of you,” Hubert replies.

Somehow Ferdinand doesn’t like that response. Then quite suddenly he’s thinking about all the cars and all the lattes in the world, the subway station he needs to take to get here, and the library building from the outside looking in, instead of the inside looking out. He thinks about things Hubert sees when he looks out the window, like the glow of the streetlights and the neon green sign of the roti shop across the street. Does he ever think about what he _sees_ instead of just what he _reads_? Does Hubert ever wonder what goes on in the daytime? Does he imagine what it’s like to experience an average day in the city?

“I’ll show you the world,” Ferdinand says.

Hubert softly chuckles. “And how will you accomplish that?”

Ferdinand notes that he hasn't outright declined, and inside he’s feeling a little hopeful. A little giddy, even.

“Are you challenging me?” he teases. Ferdinand thinks for a moment, but nothing crosses his mind. Not yet at least. “I’ll find a way.”

“Of course you will,” Hubert absently replies before focusing back to his book. “So a latte is a type of coffee drink made with milk.”

“Correct.” There’s a little silence for thought, and then Ferdinand asks, “What type of coffee do you have in your world?”

“Without milk. Maybe sugar, but I prefer none.”

“People here still drink it like that, too.” Another thought goes through Ferdinand’s mind - there actually isn't much he knows about Hubert's world. Not that Ferdinand isn't curious, but he has been busy answering questions instead of asking them. He begins to fiddle with the corner of a page. “This may seem like a question from nowhere, but if it isn’t impolite to ask… why are you the villain?”

Hubert points to a part in his book. “What is a soft drink? Am I ignorant to assume all drinks are soft?”

“Here, we use it to describe sugary drinks that give a popping, fizzy sensation in your mouth.” Ferdinand shifts slightly on his seat. “Hubert –”

“Noted,” Hubert says, “thank you for clarifying.”

Hubert doesn’t look up again, instead he is busying himself with reading. Ferdinand can take a hint, and he knows better than to push for an answer. Their foundation was still being built, not yet entirely stable, and Ferdinand doesn’t want to accidentally add a piece that will ruin all their work. Maybe they won’t get another chance to rebuild.

Ferdinand looks at the stack of books beside himself. There are at least five more he hasn’t touched, yet he somehow knows he won’t be finding what he’s searching for between any of their pages. He picks one up anyway and begins to leaf through, busying himself with a hopeless endeavor to distract from the disappointment he feels.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a short chapter, I say as I roll up to the drive-thru window and decide right then to upgrade to a regular sized chapter.  
> Though, my regular isn't very long either;;;

“Tick tock Ferdinand,” Linhardt says without looking up from his phone screen, “it's almost closing time.”

“I am so sorry, Linhardt,” Ferdinand says, busy brushing his hair out from his face – the wind tonight is bitterly cold and strong, and he still feels the sting on his cheeks.

“It’s fine Ferdinand, I’m only joking.” 

“I swear to be quick.”

Linhardt dismisses him with a lazy wave of his hand. “Go on.”

He almost runs – almost. He knows how much noise it would make, and his sense of courtesy overrides his panic so instead he sets off in a hurried walk. He has a little under an hour to search through the library before closing time, and he’s also running out of ideas. He looks through the cookbooks again, went back to the children’s section (the children miss him so he pretends he still needs to be there when he can), and quickly ascends the stairs toward his use-to-be usual spot at the social sciences; these days, he spends most of his time in the maintenance closet but he doesn’t mind. His eyes quickly sweep over the book spines; he’s checked here as well, but doesn’t bother to pull every book off the shelf like before because he’s done that twice now. He hurries up the stairs to do a quick sweep of the shelves on the fourth and fifth floors. Nothing.

He looks at the time. Just under thirty minutes until closing.

Ferdinand’s head is spinning. He’s trying to think of a place in the library he hasn’t looked. He almost goes to the computer lab until he remembers that yes, he has checked there as well as the photocopy area. Yes, he has browsed the common area where students like to study or finish their group projects. Yes, he has even checked the unusual spots like poking gently around the garbage from time to time, and inside the washrooms – in that order so he can wash his hands afterward, even if he was using a ruler to sift around the trash. He eases the suspicious glances his way whenever that happens with an apologetic smile, and a halfhearted excuse like dropping his glasses into the garbage bin accidentally. Ferdinand doesn’t even wear glasses.

He supposes to give Hubert an update – nothing today, again. He wonders if Hubert feels as frustrated as he is with the progress, especially since it is still at zero. If he is frustrated, he is controlling it much better than before. There are no more insults to his competency, no sharp words trying to cut down his confidence. He has replaced it with calm gratitude, usually saying something along the lines of “thank you, there is always tomorrow”. It makes Ferdinand want to search even more and for longer.

“ _Hubert_ ,” Ferdinand says when he bursts through the closet door.

Hubert flinches slightly in surprise from the sudden noise, and looks up from his book just in time to see Ferdinand closing the door.

“Hello, Ferdinand,” he says. Hubert notices how tiredly he’s leaning against the door. “Are you ill?”

“No, I am not,” Ferdinand responds. He takes a deep inhale and allows himself to slip down against the door until he’s seated on the floor. “It’s just that at work, the system went down and I couldn’t do anything. We had to wait over an hour for it to get up and running again. By then I had a meeting so I had to pull overtime to catch up on my work that I couldn’t do earlier, so afterward I scrambled and still got here late, so there was less than an hour to search through the library which has _five floors_ mind you–”

“Ferdinand, please – slow down. I can barely comprehend what you’re saying.” Hubert shuts the book in his lap so he can show Ferdinand has his full attention. “Your work kept you late?”

“Yes.”

“So, in turn, you arrived at the library late?”

“Yes, exactly.” He inhales deeply again. “And now I’m running out of ideas of where to look.”

Hubert tilts his head in thought. “Have you searched all the floors? It must be somewhere there.”

“Multiple times.” Ferdinand covers his face with his hands and groans before saying, “So many times that I have the shelf layout memorized.”

“Then what about the children’s section? If not the shelves, maybe wedged between the toys there.”

“Yes. Just as many times, if not more.”

Hubert purses his lips. Ferdinand can see the look of concentration on his face, and the furrow of his eyebrows. On the best of days Ferdinand thinks that Hubert looks rather contemplative and sullen, but now there seems to be genuine worry on his features. He doesn’t like it, it makes Ferdinand feel like he’s losing the challenge he set out for himself to find those pages – and even worse somehow, it feels like he is losing Hubert’s trust.

Ferdinand rises from his position on the floor and grabs the door handle. “I’ll check again,” he says. “Maybe there’s something I haven’t seen yet. I’ll try looking more thoroughly under the shelves.”

“To remind you, there isn’t enough time tonight for an again. It’s almost closing.” Hubert places the book on his lap to the side and rises from his seat. He moves closer so he can put his hand on top of Ferdinand’s own, the one grasping the door handle. Ferdinand’s shoulders visibly relax. “Calm down and get some rest. If there isn’t an issue at your place of work you can search again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Then you have even more time.”

“But–”

“Breathe again, you are in too much of a state of panic.” He watches Ferdinand breath in deeply, exhales slowly. “You have tomorrow, so go home. I will see you then.”

Ferdinand is staring at him. Then suddenly he blurts out, “Can I bring you home?”

Hubert blinks twice. He draws his hand back to his side. “I– I beg your pardon?”

“Can I bring you home? Your book.” Ferdinand turns so he’s directly facing Hubert. “I don’t think the library has anything to offer anymore. I think I should expand my search.”

When he thinks about it, there really isn’t anywhere else for him to look. He’s stubborn but not foolish enough to keep searching when his intuition is saying not here, and there’s only so many times he can run up and down all five floors before he gives up – not because he wants to, but because he has to. If he wants to keep his promise Ferdinand needs to think differently.

“Are you sure that is the wisest decision?”

“Why not?”

“What if I try to kill you in your sleep?”

Ferdinand waves him off. “Oh, please. I know you won’t.”

“Hm. You aren’t even intimidated – how disappointing. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know. I have only ever skimmed your book once when you gave it to me.” Ferdinand holds a hand to his head. “Even my memory about it is fuzzy.”

“Are you saying you’ve never once glanced at it again?”

“Well, you seem amazingly guarded about it.” Ferdinand runs his hand through his long hair before he crosses his arms. “Even on our worst terms, as a gentleman, I wanted to keep your privacy.”

“It seems I am constantly reworking my opinion of you.” Hubert walks back toward the bucket, and then goes past that to kneel by the wall. From the many visits, Ferdinand noticed that Hubert doesn’t bother to keep most books in the hiding space anymore except his own. When Hubert pulls out the little maroon book he inspects it first for signs of damage before heading back to Ferdinand and handing it over. “And where, may I ask, are you planning to expand your search?”

“The bookstores – specifically the used ones,” Ferdinand says. He flips the book around in his hands. “I only began coming to the library since I was running out of space on my own shelves, but I’m familiar with multiple stores in the city. I have been thinking about it, and unlike the other books here there isn’t a barcode on this – that little black and white strip on the back. It’s so old too, I wonder how it ever even got here.”

“Are you planning to take this home now?” Hubert asks.

“What will happen to you if I do? Is distance an issue?”

“I have no answer for you. I haven’t tried something like this before.”

Ferdinand considers the idea before shaking his head. “Not tonight then. I’ll come back tomorrow morning. I am hoping that when I bring this home while you are not yet here, you will appear wherever your book is located.”

“Indeed, that is what has been happening.” An idea passes through Hubert’s mind. “In the interest of time, what if we just went there now?”

“You want to go now?”

“Yes.”

“Let me rephrase – you want to go on the streets dressed like _that_?” Ferdinand points to his clothing. The metal shoulder pieces; the long, black cape that is hand-embroidered at the bottom; the highly starched, rather outdated white collar of his shirt beneath the heavy grey coat. Ferdinand is accustomed to his attire but he doesn’t think the rest of the city is ready yet. “I cannot believe I am saying this but Hubert, I don’t think you have thought this through well enough.”

“It shouldn’t matter much, should it? My cape should allow me to move with ease, especially in the dark of night.”

“No,” Ferdinand says, “not in this environment. We have lights almost everywhere. It simply will not do in this world.”

Hubert looks contemplative. “It appears to hold true that experience is quite different than study.”

“It’ll be only one more night,” Ferdinand says, “just for tonight.”

He sees Hubert look around the closet at the portrait of the galloping horse, the guest stool – which really, no one uses aside from Ferdinand – and at the stack of boxes Ferdinand tosses his coat onto. He looks at the sad-looking overturned bucket he uses for a seat, and the loose base molding that he used to hide the books he steals from the library after hours. They never quite figured where the cold draft in the space had been coming from, so there is a plush throw blanket Ferdinand took from home folded neatly on his stool.

“Despite my resistance to feeling, I will admit to having grown a little sentimental.”

“Then let’s take a photo.”

He huffs. “You want to take a photo of a neglected closet?”

“It wasn’t neglected, we were here,” Ferdinand responds. He takes the phone out of his pocket and opens the camera. He motions with his hand for Hubert to stand by him. “Come closer so we’re both in the photo.”

When Hubert is back to being by his side, Ferdinand positions them around so the room is the background instead of capturing the door. He holds up his phone until they are both within frame. 

Hubert stands awkwardly, not looking into the camera. “This is ridiculous.”

“It is not. This is how we do things here. Now look into the camera and try to smile,” Ferdinand responds. Hubert tries his best, but his expression appears more in pain than happy. “Or maybe not. Just look natural.”

Hubert’s expression falls and he just stares into the camera. “Better?” he asks.

Ferdinand takes the photo. When he looks back at it he does think that yes, Hubert looks much more at ease than pretending to smile. He is surprised he didn’t realize how close he had pushed himself into Hubert’s space, even more surprised he wasn’t pushed aside; even if Hubert was a few inches taller than him their cheeks are almost touching in the photo. Ferdinand’s sunny smile looks like quite the contrast to Hubert’s sombre expression. Still, the closeness does its purpose and allows plenty of the room behind to show – the painting, both their seats, the boxes, and the somewhat stained floor.

It isn’t picturesque, but as he continues to look at the photo Ferdinand begins to understand how Hubert feels. He thinks he will always be somewhat fond of this place now.

“Look at that,” Ferdinand says, “the first room we ever shared.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what I have planned, we're a little over halfway now unless I decide I could pad their relationship out a bit more, but it wouldn't add much to the plot;; We'll see!!  
> Regardless, a multi-chapter I'll finish in under a year? Holy crap no waayy

Where should he keep the book? Ferdinand wonders. On the shelf? By his bed on the nightstand? On the kitchen counter? Where does Hubert show up when he, well, shows up? How is that determined? What seemed like a great plan last night from a big picture perspective is suddenly making him nervous with all the small details. From the one time it happened, Hubert appeared in nearly a blink of an eye in front of him without spectacle, but he was never the one to place the book anywhere himself – does its placement matter? Right now it’s by the small pile of books on the coffee table; earlier in the day Ferdinand decided to take initiative and do some searching in a few of the city’s used bookstores, and he would have felt guilty touching everything without purchasing a thing. In his little pile he bought is a novel of historical fiction, and two cookbooks on meals for two.

Oh no, Ferdinand thinks when he looks out the window and sees the sun disappearing behind the buildings, what if he appears on the ledge of the porch? Or maybe he’s still in the library? He should head over to check. But when Ferdinand looks at the time, he realizes when he arrives the library will be closed, so he continues to anxiously wipe his kitchen countertop and hopes for the best.

His home isn’t dirty or disorganized, but whenever he looks at the photo of them in the old library closet he feels the need to make a good – _an amazing_ – impression for Hubert. The coat and scarf he usually tosses on the couch is hanging properly in the closet, and when he thinks about the cold draft they had to endure Ferdinand turns the heat in his unit up slightly. Earlier in the day he purchased a French press – something he would have never thought would be in his home – and though he doesn’t quite know how to use it yet, Ferdinand decides he will learn in time.

He goes into the bedroom to access the closet there, where folded on the top shelf is an extra blanket and pillow. He takes it down from the shelf and places it on the couch in the main living area, fussing with its placement repeatedly on the backrest or the cushion until he gives up and leaves it on the backrest – there were more important matters to take care of.

He’s back in the bedroom closet going through his clothing. Hubert may be taller, but he’s leaner than Ferdinand, and some of his older clothing might fit him better than what he wears now. There’s a blue fuzzy pair of pajama pants with rabbits printed on it that he can’t even imagine Hubert wearing – where did he even get these anyway? a gift perhaps, since he doesn’t remember buying them – and he goes to nearly the end of his closet before he finds a suitable set.

He almost drops the clothing in his hands when he steps out.

“ _Hubert_ ,” he says as he puts a hand over his racing heart, “you scared me.”

With his back still turned to Ferdinand as he gazes out the apartment window, Hubert looks like a shadow. The swiftly fading sunlight outlines his hair, but his cape seems to eat up all the light that could-have-been. “Hello, Ferdinand.”

It takes a bit for his pulse to return to normal, and then Ferdinand asks, “How long have you been standing there? Where did you appear?”

“Only a few minutes ago. Exactly where you see me.”

That answer puts Ferdinand’s mind at ease; he would feel guilty if Hubert was, on a fluke, still waiting in the library.

“I was afraid you would still be stuck in the library.”

“There is no need to worry as long as you brought home the book.”

Hubert turns away from the window and looks directly at him.

Hubert hasn’t looked imposing to Ferdinand since their first encounter. But now, in his living room and the pressure to be a good host, the piercing stare that he can usually dismiss as just Hubert’s usual expression makes him feel unsettled. Scrutinized. After all his preparation, this isn't how he imagined it would be like.

Suddenly Ferdinand feels self-conscious. “Welcome to my home,” he says, “though, it definitely isn’t as big as a castle.”

“It doesn’t need to be.” Hubert steps away from the window, walking slowly in the room as he takes it in. Ferdinand’s home is an open concept space, and Hubert’s eyes examine the ceiling lights, the overflowing bookshelf in the living area, and the kitchen. There isn’t much space for him to wander, but Ferdinand can see how engrossed he is by what he sees. Suddenly, he stops to look at a picture framed on the wall – it’s a photo of a younger Ferdinand on vacation somewhere sunny. “Is this your family?” he asks.

“It’s a photo of me and my parents.” Ferdinand shifts in place. “Though, I haven’t been on speaking terms with my father in quite some time. I only speak to my mother.”

Hubert takes a quick glance at him from the side before looking back to the photo. “There is no judgement here.” He leans in closer to the photo, staring at the younger Ferdinand, and tilts his head slightly in consideration. It seems as if Hubert has made up his mind. “You look naive.”

“ _Naive_?” Ferdinand repeats, feeling slightly offended. “What do you mean by naive?”

“Like this child would turn exactly into the adult you would expect him to.”

Ferdinand wants to argue, but the teasing smirk on Hubert’s face makes him flustered and the words never leave him. Instead he says, “Well, you look uncomfortable. Here.”

“What is this?”

“A change of clothing.”

Hubert takes the bundle from Ferdinand’s hands. He holds up the shirt – it’s a black long sleeve made of a soft, lightweight jersey. He holds up the lounge pants – it’s brushed flannel with a maroon and black plaid pattern. He looks at Ferdinand.

“Do I really need to wear these?”

“If you’re going to stay the night you might as well dress for it.”

“My attire is perfectly acceptable.”

“Do you really plan to sleep in that heavy cape? And in that armour?”

“I’ve done it many times, tonight should be no different.”

“Hubert, you are not in battle. You are in my home.”

Ferdinand’s hurt expression must have stirred something inside of Hubert because after a moment of consideration he sighs in defeat. “If you must know, I do not sleep very much at night. But, I suppose it would be rude of me to deny your hospitality.”

“Thank you,” he responds. With Hubert persuaded, Ferdinand’s mood is already perked back up. He moves past Hubert to open the washroom door and flicks on the light switch. “You can get dressed here.”

When Hubert disappears into the washroom to change his clothing, Ferdinand sits down on the couch and lets his body relax into the cushions. His nerves have been at an all time high, ruminating about what Hubert would think about his home. He hasn’t said anything positive, but he hasn’t said anything negative either – and Ferdinand will take that as a win; if Hubert found anything distasteful surely he would have pointed it out by now.

He can hear rustling from the washroom for the last few minutes, long enough that Ferdinand wonders if Hubert is doing fine or if he needs to be checked upon. It’s also the first time Ferdinand truly wonders how Hubert gets dressed or undressed everyday. He wonders which clasp is functional? Which buckle is ornamental? Does he need his dastardly attendants – if he has any – to help or can he do it all himself? His clothing looks heavy and much of it decorative, he wonders if it’s personal taste or does something magical like his cape.

Finally, the door opens and Hubert walks out in Ferdinand’s spare clothes. When he sees him, Ferdinand almost wants to laugh – Hubert looks surprisingly normal wearing his clothes, nothing at all like a fairy tale villain who can cast fire from the palm of his hand, or lives in a castle that overlooks a picturesque lake and mountain top view. Instead he appears like a man Ferdinand would see at a twenty-four hour grocery store, perusing the aisles at 3 o’clock in the morning to avoid the public. He keeps the thought to himself.

Hubert’s cape hangs in one arm, and his clothing folded in the other. He holds both armour pieces in one grip. “I couldn’t carry my boots so I left them inside.”

“It’s fine,” Ferdinand responds, “I’ll bring them to the shoe rack.”

He goes past Hubert into the washroom so he can take his boots and put them near the front. When he comes back to the main area, he notices that the clothing is now on the coffee table in one neat pile. Hubert is sitting on the couch with his back straight, hands clasped together in his lap. To the unaccustomed eye Hubert has perfect posture, but Ferdinand has observed him enough to know when he’s truly relaxed he can be a little hunched. He is looking much too tense for Ferdinand’s liking.

Ferdinand’s own nerves about playing host are replaced with concern. He sits beside Hubert on the couch. “Is something the matter?”

“Forgive me, but I am unused to this environment.”

Ferdinand begins tapping a finger against the couch cushion. “Maybe we could talk about something?” He’s given a blank stare – _you should know better by now._ Ferdinand rolls his eyes. “It was _just_ a suggestion.”

This is rather awkward, Ferdinand thinks. Hubert is still sitting with his back perfectly straight, staring around the room. He’s waiting for Hubert to say something first – anything – ask about what he sees like usual. But he doesn’t. He’s staring at the books on the coffee table, including his own, before his eyes look outside the window again. The sun has now fully set. He notices Hubert tugging at the sleeve of the shirt, and when Hubert turns away from the window he notices Ferdinand staring at his action.

“If you must know, this is comfortable.”

“I’m glad,” Ferdinand says. He is, for two reasons: Hubert has finally said something, and he seems to finally be easing into the feeling of the clothes. “We should get you more.”

Hubert looks surprised at the suggestion, but he quickly changes his expression back to neutral. “What is the reason for that?”

“So you can go outside with me,” Ferdinand says. When he notices Hubert readying to oppose, he quickly adds, “So you can help me look for your pages.”

He makes the logical argument to quiet Hubert, but in his heart Ferdinand wants to keep his promise to show him the world. It’s two birds with one stone.

“I suppose you make a reasonable suggestion,” Hubert says. “This whole time I’ve been wondering what I can do to help; I’m not accustomed to the feeling of uselessness.”

“I know a few bookstores that are open until 2AM. We can go there on the weekends when I don’t have work and need to wake early.”

“What do I do when you’re working late?”

“Oh,” Ferdinand says. He didn’t think this far again. “I guess you could entertain yourself? Read a book” – he motions to the shelf – “or perhaps watch a movie? That will kill a few hours.”

“Watch a movie?” Hubert asks.

“Yes, you can watch movies with this.” He gets up to walk to the bedroom, grabbing the laptop from the nightstand and makes his way back to the couch. Hubert knows about movies from the one night he had explained it to him. The idea of capturing moving pictures captivated him, that everyone could watch the same show over and over again on demand, that the very real-looking effects were fake. “Let's watch something now. What do you enjoy?”

“I have never watched a movie before,” Hubert says, “I suppose you can show me anything.”

Ferdinand is browsing the catalogue before he chooses something. He decides on something he has seen before so he can fall asleep without missing anything; the day has been mentally taxing, and now that the stress of making a good impression is gone he is getting tired. Ferdinand yawns.

“Hubert,” he says, “when you get tired you can take the bedroom.”

“Isn’t that where you sleep?”

“It’s fine,” Ferdinand responds. He yawns again. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ve brought out a blanket and a pillow so I can sleep here.”

“I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“It is my home and I say it’s fine,” Ferdinand says with a little more authority. “I have seen you doze sitting upright on a plastic bucket with your head against drywall. After two years of that, you deserve a bed for a few nights.”

Hubert is silent. His eyes are fixated on the laptop screen as the movie plays. Then he replies, “I see.”

“Good,” Ferdinand says. He has come to learn that whenever Hubert agrees or concedes – for whatever odd reason – he will never say _yes_ or _you’re right_ , but he will use his words in a roundabout way that lets Ferdinand know he understands the point, like saying _I see_. He wonders why it pains Hubert so much to outright agree, but he has learned to accept it. Ferdinand gets up a final time to turn off the lights, and goes back to the couch beside Hubert. “I might fall asleep in the middle of watching this.”

“Because you are a morning lark,” Hubert says.

“And you are a night owl,” Ferdinand replies.

That’s the last thing he remembers saying before falling asleep. He doesn’t even remember if he said goodnight or not. There was the glow of the screen, Ferdinand looking over at Hubert and thinking again how normal he looked in his home, in his clothes, watching a movie together on his couch.

In the morning Ferdinand stirs awake to the feeling of sunlight against his eyelids. He momentarily rolls under the blankets before deciding to check the time and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. When his hand hits the wooden table a realization hits him.

Wait, Ferdinand thinks, the bedroom? Shouldn’t he be sleeping in the living room? He swiftly opens his eyes and sits up. This was definitely his bedroom.

“Hubert?” Ferdinand asks. He waits a moment, but doesn’t receive a response. Ferdinand steps out of bed, ignoring how cold the hardwood feels against his bare feet and opens the door to peek outside into the living room. “Are you still here?” Of course he isn’t, but he still wants to ask.

When he again doesn’t get a response he fully opens his door and looks around. The maroon book is there on the coffee table beside the other stack of books and his laptop, and the clothes he lent Hubert is folded neatly on the table. Hubert’s own clothing is gone. The blanket and pillow are in slight disarray on the couch, left as if he was in the middle of folding them before he just suddenly couldn’t.

Ferdinand is slightly miffed, and crosses his arm while staring at the little maroon book. Did he not explicitly tell Hubert he could take the bedroom? He hopes his displeasure can be felt from here. When he does something like this Hubert makes it too easy to argue with him, and tonight Ferdinand will make sure he won’t go behind his back and take the couch again. Ferdinand will make sure that Hubert won’t carry him to bed, won’t refuse to wake him up and leave him unknowingly alone. He didn’t even say goodbye – how rude – and _that’s_ why he was bothered, of course.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done is better than perfect !!  
> Now I can move on;;;

For the past week Hubert has been slowly becoming comfortable in Ferdinand’s home, and Ferdinand in turn is pleased seeing the shift in his demeanor – from refusing any ounce of hospitality and trying to keep out of the way, to now freely walking into the bedroom closet to change into pajamas as he waits for Ferdinand to return from work. Ferdinand would be lying if he said it wasn’t a little shock for him as well to go from bachelor living to suddenly accommodating a second person in his life. Once, after a particularly long work night, the sound of someone rummaging in his kitchen almost had him grabbing the utility knife hidden near the shoe rack – then he heard a voice welcoming him back, and remembered he had brought Hubert’s book home.

An accidental bump of their hips in the tiny kitchen, having heated debates on politics over dinner until their food goes cold, finding what’s his new favorite sitting position on the couch since he can no longer take up all the space – Ferdinand thinks their evenings together is comparable to a dance, something that will still take practice before both partners are remembering the steps to seamlessly moving together.

Tonight, however, instead of learning how to live together it will be Hubert’s first time stepping outside. While Ferdinand is excited and trying to move them along and out the door as quickly as possible, Hubert can’t stop making excuses to keep them inside.

“It fits,” Ferdinand says, but then Hubert tugs on the turtleneck collar. “Stop it. You look fine.”

“It feels exposing.”

“You like the pajamas now, though.”

“This is different.” Hubert tugs on the collar _again_. Ferdinand is close to threatening to keep a hold on his hands for the rest of the night if he doesn’t stop fidgeting with the clothes. “We are headed into public.”

A few minutes earlier, Hubert had stopped Ferdinand in front of the glass doors of the apartment lobby with a firm hand placed on his shoulder. There was a look of apprehension on his face – usually he was very, _very_ good at hiding his true feelings, something Ferdinand discovered one night when Hubert accidentally broke a glass cup in the kitchen. Wordlessly and efficiently Hubert grabbed the broom and dustpan to clean up the mess, and for a moment Ferdinand noticed the slight blush of embarrassment on his cheeks – then he blinked and it was gone.

If he can’t even bother to try and hide his feelings now Hubert must be very worried. Ferdinand pats down on the breast of the jacket reassuringly; tonight he’s borrowing more of Ferdinand’s older clothing. “Think of this like your cape.”

“It’s everything else.”

He gives Hubert a once-over and doesn’t understand why he would feel exposed – not an inch of skin below his neck was showing. Fitted charcoal dress pants, a simple black turtleneck underneath his melton jacket. Hubert’s own pair of black leather gloves. Even if Hubert’s personal clothes are a lot more loose-fitting than what he is wearing now, he doesn’t think he has anything to worry about – Ferdinand isn’t exaggerating when he thinks that Hubert looks good. Sharp. He looks like everybody else and no one on the streets will look at him twice.

“You look fine.” Ferdinand brushes a lock of ginger hair back from his shoulder, a little proud when he says, “After all, I did pick your outfit.”

“Hubris will be your downfall.”

“Hush Hubert, it was only a joke. I am trying to put you at ease. See? Now you are worrying about my pride instead of what is outside.”

“And if I still have questions?”

“Just ask. I will be guiding you as well, so stay close.”

Hubert purses his lips, and then he nods. “Okay.”

Ferdinand gives him another reassuring pat. “Don’t worry, Hanneman’s bookstore isn’t far.”

Ferdinand opens the door and steps out into the streets, breathes in the crisp air. It is cold tonight, but not too cold. It’s the first night in a long while that – though their breath still appears as wisps – the wind isn’t angry enough to prickle their cheeks.

The sun has long since set and replaced by the shining, mismatching streetlights and neon signs. The area that Ferdinand lives in is more toward the edge of the city, a healthy balance of residential sleepiness and bustle of urban life. The tallest buildings are apartments rather than offices, with grocery stores and local businesses instead of malls and tourist traps. Parks and schools instead of clubs and bars. Ferdinand is curious – as they head down the street he wonders what does Hubert think of his little neighbourhood? He doesn’t ask.

When they reach the first intersection Ferdinand stops and says, “We stay here.” He points to the sign across the street with a glowing orange hand. “That sign is for pedestrians, which means us; the cars will be passing through and it’s dangerous to cross.”

“How will we know when to cross?”

“The sign will change into the image of a person walking, and that means we can use the road.”

“Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” Ferdinand agrees, but then he looks down – Hubert’s hand is clenched. The leather glove is pulling tight against his knuckles. “Are you still nervous?” No response. “If you would like to try another night–”

“No,” Hubert interjects. “We can’t waste anymore time.”

“Please don’t push yourself.”

“I will adapt.”

The sign changes into orange glowing numbers, counting down until it reaches zero, and then becomes their signal to cross. As if his earlier nerves were just an act, Hubert strides forward before Ferdinand even reacts to the signal change, and he needs to increase his pace to catch up to Hubert already on the other side of the street.

Ferdinand frowns. “What are you doing? You don’t even know where to go.”

Hubert points to a sign in the distance. “That says subway. We are headed there, are we not?”

“Yes, but not what I meant,” Ferdinand says, not hiding the hurt in his voice. “You have nothing to prove, so please don’t run away from me.”

This causes Hubert to slow down, and from the side he takes a glance at Ferdinand’s face. “I didn’t mean to run away from you with this” –Hubert looks around and scoffs– “newfound freedom. I am simply in a haste.”

“I know. I am too.” Ferdinand twiddles with the end of his hair. “You may know where to go now, but sooner than later you will lose your way. The city is big, Hubert. More than you are aware. I have lived here for the past five years and there are still places where I will become lost.”

Unexpected and quite suddenly, Hubert takes Ferdinand’s arm and leads him off to the side of the street. “Your concern is well noted,” he says, “so how about this – you already promised to guide me, and in return I promise to stay beside you tonight, the next night, and every other night. Is that reasonable?”

Ferdinand’s smile is soft, the cheer returning to his mood. “Has anyone ever told you, you have a dramatic streak?” Before Hubert can reply, Ferdinand continues. “Not that I don’t appreciate it. Thank you for considering how I feel.”

“I am trying to practice more... empathy.”

“It’s working.” It’s Ferdinand’s turn to tug on Hubert’s arm, guiding them back from the edge of the sidewalk. “We both agreed we are in a haste, so we mustn't waste anymore time.”

It isn’t much farther until they reach the subway station. The entrance is down a flight of grimy stairs, speckled with road salts from a snowfall earlier in the week that has since melted away, and it crunches underneath their shoes as they descend the steps. Ferdinand doesn’t touch the metal railing, suspicious of what germs could be lingering from the type of _things_ could be done to it from the public, and as Ferdinand turns to tell Hubert to please not touch the railing for his own good he realizes he doesn’t need to say a thing as the hands tucked firmly into the jacket’s pockets says enough – Hubert’s eyes are focused on a blackened speck of gum stuck to the metal. He is a quick study, Ferdinand thinks, even without help he’s learning the ways of the world just fine.

At the bottom of the steps Ferdinand holds open the glass door to the station for Hubert. “Oh, I just remembered that I need to give you a token.”

“For what?”

“So you can ride the subway car.” He reaches into his pocket for his wallet and fishes out a brass coin. He presses it into Hubert’s palm. “I’ll tell you when to use this.”

Each subway station in the city has its own theme and this one is no different. To reflect the family-friendliness of the neighbourhood, there is mosaic artwork on the walls showing children running with kites in the summer that transitions to children building snowmen in the winter. There are giant floor stickers imitating splatters of paint, greying from the hundreds of shoes that step over them daily. The station is filled with people, a typical Friday night, and they need to weave around those exiting the area. At the turnstiles Ferdinand swipes his pass, and he motions for Hubert to put the token into the slot. Now, they are waiting for the next car to arrive at the platform.

Ferdinand is smiling. “You are doing very well.”

“There is nothing to feel accomplished about, even a fool could follow these instructions. Instead, try learning a dead language to decipher an ancient tome.”

“Give yourself more credit,” Ferdinand says, “this is your first time outside, essentially thrust into learning a new culture as you go.”

“You are romanticizing the situation. But, I do suppose it sounds better than mere child's play.”

“I don’t think I would fare half as well if I was in the same situation.” The next subway car rolls into the station. The doors open and once the flood of people exiting the car stops, Ferdinand ushers Hubert quickly inside as the doors signal to close. He moves toward some empty seats. “Sit with me here.”

The car starts slowly rolling away until it is at full speed again, swaying them in their seats over every screeching, tight turn and bumpy track. Opposite them, there is a quiet conversation between friends. A few seats away a man sneezes into his elbow, sniffles, and goes quiet again. They both, however, stay silent.

Ferdinand takes a glance, yet Hubert’s face betrays nothing. He is focused on reading the ads that line the walls, at a code passengers can use for a product discount and at the raving reviews for the latest play. He looks down at Hubert’s hand – relaxed, not clenched into an anxious fist like at the traffic light. Ferdinand’s shoulders relax too, a tension he didn’t even know he was holding.

The ride isn’t long and uneventfully – thankfully – smooth. No issues add time onto their commute, and soon Ferdinand is tapping on Hubert’s shoulder to follow him off the car, through the station, and to climb up the stairs at the west exit back into the night air. Somehow it feels a little chillier in this part of the city, and Ferdinand fixes the scarf closer around his neck.

At every intersection he notices that Hubert keeps looking upward. The buildings here are tall – much taller than the ones in his neighbourhood. The sidewalk is crowded from people and just things, and there is little room to move that they keep getting separated until finally the impassive mask on Hubert’s face finally cracks so Ferdinand can recognize an emotion underneath – annoyance.

When they are past the busy section of the street, Ferdinand slows down his pace to point at the building on the opposite side. “Hubert, do you recognize it?”

“No. Should I?”

“That’s the library,” Ferdinand excitedly answers. “Look! I think the window by the closet is on the other side. I wonder who is working tonight.”

“It’s Friday, so Linhardt is working. And the window is actually that one” –Hubert points but Ferdinand can’t really tell which window he’s referencing– “because from there you can clearly see the sign of that shop.”

Ferdinand laughs. “Are you sure you don’t recognize the building?”

“Of course not. This is the first time seeing it from the outside.”

Then Ferdinand’s laughter fades. “Oh – I’m sorry.”

“I am merely stating fact,” Hubert says. “I don’t understand why I would take offense.”

“Well, the library has always been a place of enjoyment for me so I couldn’t help but get excited. It must have been different for you.”

He shrugs. “It wasn’t all terrible, just rather dull for the most part. But you came along and it was a lot less boring.” Then, there is a look in Hubert’s eyes that he can’t place. Ferdinand wants to ask if there’s something wrong when suddenly Hubert continues, “Is something the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Huh? O-oh, well because” –Ferdinand adjusts his scarf to give him something else to focus on– “because we have been standing here too long. Quickly Hubert, we must get to Hanneman’s now. We are wasting too much time!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT DEAD real life got in the way;;;

The windchime tied to the handle acts as an alarm, and it jingles when Ferdinand opens the door.

“Good evening, Hanneman,” Ferdinand says as he steps inside. The warmth of the bookstore is a welcome change from outside.

“Hello, my boy,” he responds, and then he looks at Hubert standing close behind. “You brought company today.”

“Yes – Hubert is my friend from out of town.”

Hanneman smiles. “What brings you both here so late?”

“We are looking for something specific,” Ferdinand answers, and then his face brightens when he turns to Hubert. “This would be the perfect time to ask, Hanneman is very knowledgeable.”

“Oh, there is no need for flattery. There is still much for me to learn.” Then Hanneman leans forward to cross his arms on the wooden countertop. “However, I am willing to help where I can. What are you looking for?”

“It is an old story from childhood that he is reminiscing about.” Ferdinand ignores the unimpressed look Hubert gives him, and gently pushes Hubert toward the counter. “Tell him about it.”

“It’s not a very long story.” He shrugs. “It has magic.”

“And?” Hanneman asks.

“It’s in a book.”

“It is a fairy tale,” Ferdinand says. Hubert is going nowhere with his description so he decides to take over. “And it has three heroes who leave their village to find a treasure. There is a picturesque castle where the villain lives and he is _quite_ the untalkative man–”

“ _Thank you_ , Ferdinand,” Hubert interjects, “I remember more now. It is your typical so-called hero’s journey. They travel through a forest in the middle of the night in an attempt to seize a priceless relic from this castle. And using ancient magic in their ambush, unfairly banish the mage from the realm.”

“There are many stories that are similar – as you know, fairy tales tend to follow a similar convention. How does this one end?” Hanneman asks. He leans back from the counter to stroke under his chin as he thinks. “If I had an author or time period it was written?”

Hubert and Ferdinand exchange glances. Then Ferdinand shakes his head and says, “We don’t know.”

Hanneman looks at them apologetically. “Well then, it seems you have your work cut out for you. I’m sorry but I’m not sure if I can be of any use.”

Ferdinand’s shoulders slump in disappointment. “Oh, well thank you for trying. We have been searching for quite some time so I’m not particularly surprised.”

“You are always free to look around, you might find it wedged somewhere in a pile.” Hanneman reaches under the counter to pull out a book. “In the meanwhile, Ferdinand, I think you will find this interesting.” Then he turns his attention to Hubert when he hears him scoff. “My boy, is there something you find amusing?”

“Forgive me, but amusing would be the incorrect word for what I am thinking.”

Hanneman has a twinkle in his eye. “Oh? Please, enlighten me on what you think about this book.”

When the conversation – debate, really – picks up, Ferdinand takes the opportunity to quietly slip away from Hubert’s side, leaving him with Hanneman at the front counter. Though it would be quicker to have two persons in the search, there is a certain comfort in the idea that Hubert can connect with someone else.

The store itself is on the small side so the aisles are quite cramped, and if someone were to pass him by they would just be able to dance around each other without bumping shoulders. Thankfully, it is late at night and there is no one else. The walls are lined with shelves stuffed with books, books packed on top of shelves, and books towering in front of shelves – Ferdinand stops his foot just in time from accidentally knocking over a stack and skims past a stepladder. The smell of old pages becomes thicker as he moves further down the aisles; somewhere along the way it starts to remind him of Hubert.

Near the back there is a shelf with a strip of paper taped on its edge, the words _children’s literature_ written with a black marker in Hanneman’s neat script, and Ferdinand starts his search from there. He sighs when he counts seven full rows on this shelf alone, and goes back to retrieve the stepladder so he can pull down the first book on the very top, flipping through its pages before putting it back and grabbing the next. He continues on, a monotonous task he has grown accustomed to from the library.

The cover shows a caterpillar here, fairies and flowers on this one, an illustration of a spider on this – some of these are bringing back childhood memories, of classrooms and of kinder days when his father would tuck him into bed at night. Many of the books are too modern to even mistake for Hubert’s own, but he checks inside anyway since maybe the pages were slipped inside. And if he happens to find a second copy he could photocopy the missing pages and tape them back into their own.

Ferdinand takes the time alone to just think and finds himself overcome with the feeling of disappointment. Hubert had revealed nothing about himself or anything else about the book he doesn’t already know. None of the questions he has been holding onto had been answered when they were talking to Hanneman. Of course, Ferdinand muses, he could always read the book sometime during the day and never tell – it wasn’t terribly long, he could finish it in a few hours – but somehow that leaves him with an even worse feeling than never knowing the answers at all.

It is when Ferdinand is searching the fourth row he hears footsteps approaching from behind and Hubert saying his name.

“If you are wondering, I am still searching.” He looks at the bright blue book in his hands with an image of a bear on the cover. Nothing useful is inside so he puts it back. “I still haven’t found anything yet.”

“Have you been searching this whole time?”

“Of course,” he answers. “What else would I be doing?”

“I could be helping.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your conversation.”

“It’s fine,” Hubert says, “I’m here tonight for you.”

Ferdinand smiles. “Then you can start there.” He points to the shelf beside the one he is going through.

It has now been an hour of searching. They are in a comfortable silence, broken only once by Hanneman coming to ask if they were still fine. Occasionally Ferdinand would take a glimpse over to Hubert, wondering how the other man was doing, and finds himself pleasantly surprised at the amount of dedication he gives the task. Not once has Hubert lost focus or complained at the monotony.

However, Ferdinand finally feels his own concentration beginning to slip. His vision begins blurring. He glances again to Hubert who is still intently flipping through books. Ferdinand counts – they managed to cover six shelves and they are only near finished with the back wall.

He sighs, and rubs at his eyes which start to feel dry. But he can’t lose focus, especially not when Hubert is relying on him, not when Hubert is here to provide help, and he doesn’t want to be the first one to give up tonight – he wants to say with certainty that he tried his hardest.

Ferdinand feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Hubert asks. "I heard you sigh."

“I’m fine.” Ferdinand rubs at his eyes again. 

Hubert frowns. “No, you’re not.”

“The feeling will pass soon. I just need a little break.”

“Not a break. I think you need to properly rest,” Hubert says.

“But the store doesn’t close yet.” Ferdinand takes another book down. “Besides, we are almost finished with the back wall. We shouldn’t give up now.”

“We can search another time.” He takes the book from Ferdinand’s hands and places it onto the shelf. Then he places the book in his own hands back on the shelf. “Take a rest.”

“But–”

“Please,” Hubert says. He lifts a hand near the side of Ferdinand’s face, hesitating just for a moment before brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Rest for tonight.”

There was another argument ready on his tongue – something about taking too much time to find the pages since making the promise, Hanneman’s store doesn’t close for another few hours, and now that he is here they are going twice as fast than when Ferdinand searched alone. But the remaining stubbornness in him melts away at the touch. They can search another weekend, which means he can show Hubert more things. If he can't make the first trip memorable he will make it up with the second.

“Are you sure?” Ferdinand asks just in case he changed his mind. “If we stop now we’ll have to wait another week to come back.”

“If I may speak honestly, I’m more worried about you. After all, it is almost your usual bedtime.”

Ferdinand wants to laugh but it comes out as a yawn, and he stifles it back with his hand. “It really is.” 

“We will try again at a later date.”

“Alright,” he says.

Hubert follows closely behind him on their short walk to the front. He can feel Hubert lightly holding onto his arm, and Ferdinand is about to ask _why_ until he accidentally kicks a small stack of books on the floor and stumbles. Hubert is quick to steady him before he falls, and Ferdinand suddenly understands. He must seem incredibly tired to Hubert if he is watching out for his well-being this attentively.

Back at the front, Hanneman looks up from his phone on the counter when he sees them approaching. He touches the screen to pause the video he is watching. “Did you find it?” he asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Hubert answers. “But Ferdinand is growing tired so I’m requiring him to rest. If you do not mind, we will be back to continue our search at a later date.”

“Of course you may come back,” Hanneman responds. He turns his attention to Ferdinand. “Your friend is very well-read, I’ve not engaged in such a debate since I was a professor.”

Ferdinand crosses his arms and looks at Hubert. “It can get a little exhausting when he won’t let a topic drop.”

“My my, it seems you are as forgetful as you are stubborn. If I must help you remember, you are usually the one to start a debate.”

Hanneman laughs. “Hubert, my boy, I do not mind this trait of yours. It would be welcome to have someone such as yourself working here. Books may have thousands of words but they do not talk.”

“I beg to differ,” Ferdinand says.

Hubert rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired? Where did this burst of energy come from?”

“I still have the energy to speak,” Ferdinand says. “But yes, I am tired.”

“Then let’s go home.” Hubert blinks. “To your home.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take it and goooo

Ferdinand is trying to cook more instead of his usual ordering of takeout. He wishes now it was a skill he had put more time and energy into, and feels slightly embarrassed by how little he knew once he started in earnest. He isn’t a terrible cook – but not spectacular either. He is, however, proud to say his skills are improving even if more than once he said goodbye to a sauce as it swirled down the drain, and when he learned of Hubert’s palate a try at something spicy had him nearly crying into his plate with how many peppers he used.

Tonight he is trying a new recipe for soup. “We can create a list of stores in the city,” Ferdinand says as he takes the chicken breast out from the fridge, “and then we go by distance.”

“I suggest we go by time,” Hubert says. He is cutting a zucchini into half moons. “Your work is finished when some of these stores are closing, so it would be much wiser if I was to search in your stead.”

“Did I hear you correctly?” Ferdinand asks. He turns to Hubert – whose back is to him – still focusing on cutting the zucchini. In truth, Ferdinand doesn’t want him cooking – Hubert is a _guest_ but he was insistent on helping with dinner. Hubert says he doesn’t enjoy the feeling of being useless, watching Ferdinand every night in the kitchen while he’s stuck sitting on the couch reading a book or watching the news. So earlier in the night he picked up a knife, refused to leave the kitchen area, and asked what needed to be done (and after some squabbling, Ferdinand relented and brought him the cutting board).

“Hear what?”

“You’re willing to go outside alone?”

“Have I somehow led you to believe I’m a coward?”

“That isn’t it– oh, _shoot_ ,” Ferdinand says when he goes back to minding the pot and sees the carrots and onions cooking a little too quickly. He reduces the heat and gives it a small stir with the wooden spatula. “I just didn’t think you would want to.”

“It won’t be anytime soon.” 

“Why?” Ferdinand feels Hubert sidle beside him, so he takes a small step to the side. He watches Hubert use the knife to scrape the zucchini slices from the cutting board into the pot. “If we started the list tonight, we could begin the search next week.”

“A good plan takes more than a night and our time is very limited. Because of your work, you are available during evenings only. As am I.”

“I can always use my personal time off,” Ferdinand says. The company policy for personal days is to ‘use them or lose them,’ and he remembers the earful he got from Dorothea when he confessed last year to taking less than half the days he is allowed – and they were all for doctor or dentist appointments than anything leisurely. She said he was too married to his job, but Ferdinand can’t imagine giving less than his all to anything he does, especially his career. “If I put in a request I can search during the day.”

“That will be beneficial.”

Ferdinand stirs the vegetables in the pot. The scent of onions cooking in olive oil begins to fill the kitchen when he exclaims, “I forgot we need garlic!”

“Where do you keep it?”

“In the basket,” Ferdinand replies. “Two cloves.”

As much as Ferdinand still wants Hubert to relax and sit down, he can’t help but be fascinated with his knife skills. Hubert crushes and peels the garlic, and begins mincing the cloves with quick precision.

“Where did you learn to handle a knife?” Then Ferdinand shakes his head. “Actually, please do not answer that.”

When Hubert finishes mincing the garlic he gives Ferdinand an unimpressed look before scraping it into the pot. “Do you still believe I’m truly a villain?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” Ferdinand replies honestly. “I mean, it’s hard to believe while watching you cut vegetables in my pajamas. But Hanneman is right when he said fairy tales follow a convention, and if there are already three heroes, well...”

“That book isn’t about me, but it is my world. And any world isn’t so morally black and white.”

“Then what are you?” When he receives no answer, Ferdinand sighs. “I’m sorry. I just want to understand.”

Hubert puts down the cutting board and the knife. “I know.”

“So why won’t you tell me?”

“I'm not a perfect person,” he says. "That's all you need to know."

Ferdinand frowns. He can’t help but feel a little frustrated, and doesn’t think Hubert recognizes just how much blind faith Ferdinand has given him from the moment he said I’ll believe you. Even knowing about the magic he can cast effortlessly and his now revealed mastery holding a knife, Ferdinand trusts Hubert enough not to end him in his sleep. They weren’t even really friends when he asked Hubert to come home with him – though, he still isn’t quite sure what they are now. Whatever he said to Hanneman about Hubert being his friend was a convenient excuse, but it didn't feel right rolling off his tongue then and it still doesn't feel right even now. But Ferdinand wonders just how much more of himself he needs to give to Hubert until he trusts him enough to say the truth.

“You said this many times,” Ferdinand responds, “so how will I understand if you don’t give me your side of the story? What happened to knowing both sides? You purposely keep me in the dark so I can only assume the worst.”

Hubert opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. He purses his lips and furrows his brows before meeting Ferdinand’s gaze. “It appears you have bested me.”

“So will you tell me?”

“Not tonight.” Hubert moves toward the sink, running the faucet and putting soap in his hands, trying to rid the scent of garlic from his fingers. “You should stir the pot.”

“O-oh,” Ferdinand says. He is suddenly brought out from his disappointment and remembers he is cooking. “Right. Thank you.” He turns his attention back to preparing dinner and adds the broth, a few other vegetables, and finally the chicken.

As Ferdinand shreds the now-cooked chicken on the cutting board left nearby, Hubert is behind him washing dishes. The sound of soup simmering and running water keeps a true silence from forming in the kitchen – it’s not quite an uncomfortable silence, but it is close. In the hallway, Ferdinand can hear the footsteps of a neighbour passing by, the faint jingle of keys as it slides into a lock, and finally the shut of a door. The water stops running from the faucet.

“Ferdinand.”

“Yes?”

“You are too kind to me.”

His head shoots up and he puts down the forks he was using. He turns to Hubert. “Excuse me?”

“You are kind.” Hubert looks down to the small towel in his hands. “And optimistic. You are tenacious. You are trusting – usually I would mean that negatively, but I have come to see how it can be used for a compliment. I realize now it is an… agreeable trait to have.”

“Where is this coming from?” Ferdinand says. “Are you ill? Hurt?”

“None of those things.” Hubert looks up from the towel in his hands, his expression is blank but there is a slight blush on his cheeks. “I am merely trying to amend the situation.”

“What situation?”

“ _This one._ ” He is fiddling with the towel. “Right now. I have upset you – you are not speaking. I apologize.”

“You can tell I’m upset because I’m not speaking?”

“You are usually babbling away when you are cooking, even if I may not be listening. Your voice fills the background.”

“Oh.” It’s Ferdinand’s turn to blush. “I wasn’t aware. Well, you don’t need to apologize for anything, I’m the one who stepped out of line with my question. So I’m the one who should apologize, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“Accepted.”

“Good. Well.” Ferdinand doesn’t know what to do now, so he grabs a ladle and takes a small sip of the soup. He ignores the burn on his tongue. He scoops another small amount and offers it to Hubert. “What do you think?”

Hubert has the mind to blow gently to cool the soup before taking a sip. He thinks. “Just enough salt.”

“Not enough salt,” Ferdinand says at the same time.

They stare at each other.

“If it’s too bland,” Hubert suddenly says, “you should add more salt.” He reaches for the container on the counter.

“No, it’s fine.” Ferdinand dumps the meat into the pot before he skirts around Hubert to grab two bowls from the cupboard. “I can always add more to my portion later.”

“Do you need help bringing anything over?”

“No, you can sit down now.” Ferdinand grabs a couple of spoons. “I will be over soon.”

Hubert puts the towel on the hanger and walks toward the couch. They have been ignoring the dining table as of late when having dinner. Instead, it’s become something of a habit for them to head to the couch and watch a movie while they eat.

When Ferdinand arrives in the main living area with their bowls, Hubert is already using the laptop that is connected to the television and scrolling through the movie catalogue. Ferdinand lets Hubert pick the movie every time – he is learning to use a computer – though he types rather slowly, he is quite fast at picking up everything else. He does not yet trust Hubert to work the cooking range but he can use the microwave, the sink, and the French press just fine.

Hubert is still scrolling through the movie catalogue when he speaks. His eyes never leave the screen. “Maybe.”

Ferdinand sits down on his end of the couch and tilts his head to the side. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe in time I will tell you.”

He places their bowls down on the low table, puts his spoon into his mouth. He takes out the hair tie kept in his pocket and ties his hair into a ponytail. Ferdinand thinks he will let Hubert try and use the cooking range sometime this week if he is adamant on helping with dinner.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life keeps getting in the way, but I'm finally putting this out into the world.  
> All I kept thinking about while writing this chapter is sugar daddy Ferdinand, hehehe.

It ends in failure again.

They are standing outside of Hanneman’s store with their hands tucked into coat pockets and frowns on their faces. Ferdinand looks up into the night sky, shivering as a gust of wind blows by and reddens his cheeks. The temperature is truly getting colder by the day. A light dusting of snowflakes settles into their hair and onto their shoulders; Ferdinand blinks a few away from his eyelashes. These days, the snow no longer melts by the afternoon but stays on the sidewalk to be kicked up, and what does not meet the ground clings to the top of tree branches and light poles.

“Disappointing but not surprised,” Hubert says, words disappearing into the night air like smoke.

“I really thought we could find it this time,” Ferdinand responds. “Even Hanneman was helping, but I guess it’s harder than it seems.”

“At least he has offered to continue the search on his own time.”

“That is true.” Still. Ferdinand sighs.

It stings Ferdinand in a way he is unsure Hubert would understand if he tried to explain. He has been searching relentlessly at every step, on every dusty shelf, between every book only to be met with failure time and time again.

He looks away from the sky to watch the people passing by on the streets. Everybody is bundled up in layers, burrowed under oversized coats and thick scarves and knit hats. There’s a tune he can faintly hear playing from a nearby store, and he recognizes it as holiday music, even if the holidays aren’t quite that close yet to cause alarm. Ferdinand hasn’t even begun shopping.

“You seem distracted,” Hubert says. “Are you sulking?”

“I am _thinking_ ,” Ferdinand responds.

“Do you need to share?”

“I just…” Ferdinand begins, but trails off with a sigh. “I’m afraid to voice it, but what if I can’t keep my promise to you?”

“We will find it.”

“But how do you know?” Ferdinand asks. “How can you be so sure?”

“Perhaps some of your stubbornness is rubbing off on me.”

Hubert’s words don’t completely shake off the doubt, but Ferdinand turns to smile softly at him anyway. “I wanted to find those pages tonight,” he admits. “I couldn’t do it your first night outside, so I wanted to make your second more memorable. And after, maybe we could have celebrated.”

“I would not need a celebration,” Hubert replies.

“I know _you_ don’t”– he huffs –“but _I_ do. You do not understand how hard I have been searching.”

He can notice a flicker of a thought crossing Hubert’s mind just from looking at him.

“What would you have done to celebrate?”

He looks around and thinks before turning back to Hubert. “I was thinking of a meal somewhere close by. It’s not too late in the night so we have more options than last week.”

“I see,” Hubert replies. “If it is not too forward of me to suggest, maybe we can celebrate now?”

“What for?” Ferdinand asks. “We haven’t found anything yet.”

“Maybe not, but we can dedicate tonight to you and your efforts.”

“Oh.” Ferdinand turns away from Hubert’s gaze, and focuses instead on reading a poster stuck to a shop window across the street. It is suddenly very interesting to know that if he buys matching cushions for his couch he can get a throw blanket for half price. “It’s not a big deal, we can wait.”

“You are correct. It’s not a big deal, so there is no need to hold off.”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, looking back to him. “I am not pressuring you–”

“You aren’t,” he says, while brushing some of Ferdinand’s hair back from his shoulder. He finds that Hubert has begun making a habit of doing this, and Ferdinand finds he does not mind. “Besides, didn’t you want to show me more of this world?”

“I do.”

There is a satisfaction to Hubert’s face – one that says he has won the argument. “So lead the way.”

Ferdinand rolls his eyes, and hopes he notices.

He looks around again, wondering where to go. Somewhere expensive? No – Hubert would decline. Somewhere trendy? Not that either, it would overwhelm him. A chain restaurant would do no good, it’s too easy with everything else available in the city. And after a little more thought, Ferdinand decides to go with simple – somewhere quiet.

“Follow me,” Ferdinand says, even though he grabs Hubert by the elbow and brings him along down the street.

It isn’t long – just a few blocks away – until they find themselves at the front of a small, but popular family-owned fish and chips restaurant. A wine red awning protects the large windows and glass door from the snow. The bricks of the building are painted cobalt blue, while the window and door frames are painted in antique gold.

Ferdinand opens the door and is immediately met with the smell of deep fry as soon as he steps inside. It clings heavy in the air, and he knows it will stick to their clothing and their hair when they leave. But it is inviting, and he doesn’t realize how hungry he is until sitting down, eyeing a plate of golden-battered fish and a mountain of chips a few tables down.

As Ferdinand drapes his coat and scarf on the back of his chair, a waitress places two glasses of water on their table. He looks around, remembering what the place looks like – he has only been here once before in the summertime. The restaurant is small, fitting only ten square wooden tables, and the counter with the cash register barely hides the deep fryers against the back wall. His eyes trail to the television mounted on the wall that is tuned into the news channel, the reporter’s voice a quiet noise in the background.

After a few minutes of reading the menu, the waitress comes back and takes their order. Then Ferdinand searches through his pants pockets, his coat pockets, and digs once more through his pants pockets before sighing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a minor inconvenience,” Ferdinand says. “I forgot to bring a hair tie with me – it gets in the way when I’m eating.”

“Then why do you keep your hair long?”

“I’ve been meaning to cut it for a while, but I tend to work a lot of overtime so the hair cutters are closed when I leave the office.” He runs his fingers through his hair, gets caught on a small tangle created by the wind, and unknots it. “I’ve had it at this length for a while, so I’m a little hesitant to cut it now that I’ve become used to it.”

Hubert takes a sip of water. “At the very least, it suits you.”

Ferdinand raises his eyebrow. “Thank you, I guess?”

“Mm.”

Ferdinand occupies himself with his phone while Hubert watches the news. A few tables away, a toddler yells and bangs their tiny fists on the table while their father tries his best to hush them. They exchange amused glances before continuing what they were doing. Ferdinand finds he quite enjoys it, this comfortable quiet, made from being able to simply exist beside each other.

He’s searching on his phone, trying again to find the title to Hubert’s book. Finding the pages is slowly becoming more of a wish than a reality, and Ferdinand thinks if he could at least find the title he could learn what’s on those last few pages. He’s thankful that before they left the shop Hanneman – with his own curiosity piqued – decided to join the search. He wants to message Hanneman to ask if he has found anything of importance yet, but knows he wouldn’t have found a thing in an hour if Ferdinand couldn’t do it with weeks of searching.

Ferdinand smiles to himself, noticing that instead of calling Hubert ‘my boy’ he says ‘my son.’ Hanneman has taken quite a liking to him.

Soon, the waitress approaches their table with their two plates. Ferdinand thanks her, and puts his phone away into his pocket to make space for the plates as she sets them down. The batter on the fish is golden and crisp, the chips are cut thick. When she walks away he immediately looks to Hubert.

“Do you have anything like this from your world?” Ferdinand asks. He is still cautious about asking questions but this curiosity seems harmless.

“Not quite done this way but close. Portions are smaller, that much is certain.”

“Do you like it?”

Hubert shrugs. “Food is food.”

" _Hubert_ ," Ferdinand says, exasperated. “It is alright to have an opinion.”

“That is my opinion,” he replies. “I may have a few preferences, but ultimately a meal is a way to obtain energy.”

“But you can enjoy that meal as well.”

Hubert sticks his fork into the fish, takes a small bite. “This is enjoyable enough,” he says. He takes another bite. “It’s not as saturated with oil as it appears.”

He decides to let the topic slide. “Good enough,” Ferdinand says, and begins to eat his own meal – though at a much slower pace. He doesn’t know how Hubert can take full bites of food while it’s still hot. As he stares at the steam rising from his plate, Ferdinand says, “Tell me about the dish that’s similar to this one.”

“It’s fish cooked in butter. Nothing fancy, but the quality of the ingredients makes it.”

“So it’s an expensive meal?”

Hubert takes another bite. “It can be.”

“Is it served in your castle?” When the words leave his mouth, he notices Hubert’s demeanor shift.

There’s a pause that follows, and then Hubert responds, “Let us focus on the present, Ferdinand.”

“Of course,” Ferdinand responds. “I’m sorry.”

He stabs into the batter of the fish, watching as more steam rises out from the pinpricks he is making with his fork. He has been apologizing too much these days for his own liking; Hubert is doing a much better job at meeting in the middle. Ferdinand thinks he should put more thought into what he wants to say before actually saying it.

“Are you alright?” Hubert asks.

“I’m fine.” But the response is a second too late from being believable.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“That is exactly what makes me upset,” Ferdinand says. “You shouldn’t always feel the need to apologize when I’m at fault too.”

“I apologize because I understand how difficult I make things for you.” Ferdinand suddenly feels Hubert’s hand over his own, and when he doesn’t pull away Hubert curls his fingers over his hand. “I know keeping secrets is making things hard, and despite that you have been a tremendous help for me. Never think I take you for granted.”

Ferdinand wants to pull his hand away, but he can’t help finding Hubert’s touch comforting. At the moment it is an infuriating mix of feelings. “When you close up and refuse to tell me anything, I’m not sure how much you trust me or use me.”

“I will tell you everything,” Hubert says, “when we find those pages.”

“What is waiting for you that makes you want to go back so badly?” When Ferdinand’s hand shifts slightly under his touch, Hubert’s thumb begins to brush across his knuckles. Ferdinand hates how it makes him soften. “I don’t want to send you back for nothing, or just to be hurt and killed.”

“Then would you like me to reveal a truth to you?” When Ferdinand nods his head, Hubert says, “You are the first person I have trusted in a long time.”

There is a sudden warmth inside of Ferdinand, a warmth that does not spread to become a blush across his cheeks but instead stays within his chest. Comfortable, like the nights he doesn't need to rush out the door in the morning and they can stay awake talking until Hubert is gone back. Soft, like the smiles Hubert gives him whether he is laughing with him or at him. Has Hubert's eyes always looked this bright?

“In how long?”

“Years.” Hubert pulls his hand away so he can place it palm up on the table. Ferdinand finds himself following the movement, and this time it is him holding onto Hubert’s hand. “Ferdinand, you are special.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to pace my writing again and not let work get in the way!!!  
> I will finish this story!!!

Things have changed again.

Ferdinand finds, again, that he does not mind.

He wonders what signs he followed to take him down this path. Was it deciding to chase each other's touch back in the restaurant? Was it the night they had inched closer from "their ends" of the couch to meet in the middle? then their hands were touching, and they never moved back. Or was it that time Ferdinand was cooking? His hands were messy, and his hair had been in his way. Then Hubert was holding back Ferdinand’s hair, and he stayed close behind asking if there was anything else to help with.

These days he feels a little too eager waiting for the evenings, and he would be lying if he didn't think the space feels too big for one person now. Work is a welcome distraction until Hubert’s presence can fill the empty spot on the couch, or until the time when Ferdinand can bring down a second mug from the cabinet as he makes tea. And what a predictable man Hubert is, because he always greets Ferdinand at the door when he comes home from work. When Ferdinand sees him, he can't help but be a little embarrassed by how happy he feels from something so simple.

Tonight is quiet. The weather outside is freezing, and because it is so cold Hubert has convinced him to stay inside. They’re watching a movie, settled now as one of their favorite past times. It’s dark inside the apartment with the only source of light coming from the laptop screen. The new habit is to sit close together on the couch – the sides of their arms and knees touching – and if Ferdinand is feeling particularly bold he will rest his head on Hubert's shoulder. Tonight is one of those nights, and he can feel the soft material of the shirt he lent Hubert against his cheek.

The screen gets darker when the protagonist looks up. He can feel Hubert huff in amusement, muttering something about pathetic fallacy when rain pours onto the actress’s face as if the sky is crying with her. Ferdinand smiles gently at the comment but doesn’t respond. His mind is elsewhere.

He thinks about how much has changed. In the library it was easy to fight, so easy to get under the other's skin with the smallest of misunderstandings. It was so easy to walk away and leave Hubert in that closet and go home without thinking about him. Now, needing to say goodbye instead of being able to say good morning is one of the hardest parts of the day. As the weather gets colder, all Ferdinand wants to do is give Hubert another sweater and share a hot drink and keep their toes warm under a blanket. He wants Hubert to ask more questions, or sit in silence just like this watching a movie or perhaps do nothing at all.

Hubert has also been more open, once telling him about the secret staircase in the castle that he uses to sneak out to the nearby village – for what purpose, he has never said. But all Ferdinand knows is that the staircase exists, and he counts that as one more thing he is trusted with knowing about Hubert’s life before everything now.

Ferdinand doesn’t realize how quiet he is until he feels a tap against his arm.

“Do you need to sleep?” Hubert asks.

When he feels Hubert beginning to move off the couch, Ferdinand shakes his head and stops him from walking to the bedroom.

“I’m thinking about you,” he confesses. Ferdinand doesn’t feel embarrassed admitting this, finds it’s just another thing he can trust him with. “About sending you home.”

Hubert nods, and then he leans forward to reach the controls to adjust the volume until it is reduced to only noise in the background. Ferdinand can’t understand what’s being said in the movie anymore, but now they can hear each other much better. Ah, he thinks, Hubert is in a talking mood tonight.

“I know you’ll find the pages.”

“I’ve said this to you before, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep my promise.” If he messages Hanneman, would he have any news? Or if he makes a trip to the library, maybe he could enlist Linhardt’s help. But for now, it is too late to do either of those so all Ferdinand can do is wonder.

“What makes you think that?”

“Seeing it snow,” Ferdinand says as he looks out the window. Since it is a cloudy night the sky isn’t so dark, and the snowflakes are noticeably fatter than yesterday. “We are heading into winter. When I first met you, there were still leaves on the trees. Not a lot, but they were there.”

“Time goes on, the leaves will return in the spring, and you will still have time to search.”

“That isn’t it.” Ferdinand removes himself from Hubert’s shoulder to look him in the eyes. “I’m concerned that I am taking _too_ much time.”

“Maybe this is going on longer than either of us anticipated,” Hubert responds, “but that doesn’t mean you will be fruitless.”

“How do you know?”

“If you want the facts” –Hubert begins to count on his fingers– “you have expanded your search outside the library, we have not run out of bookstores yet, and you have more help than when you initially started. Hanneman searching on his own will allow us to focus on the other locations. You also have me to help."

Ferdinand huffs. “Who is an optimist now?”

“Still you,” Hubert replies. “But it is not hopeless, not until we run out of options. And you have a particular brand of tenacity to carry you through.”

Ferdinand feels a sudden swell of determination. The fire of his resolve has been ignited again, and he does not know why he allowed it to wane at all. “You’re right – then my goal is by the end of this year. I’ll find it by then.”

“Do you want to get rid of me so badly?”

“ _Hubert_ ,” Ferdinand says, and swats his arm lightly. He doesn’t appreciate the comment even if he is joking. “But you want to go home and stay there, right? And what you want is what I want.”

“Where are you going?”

He is halfway off the couch when he looks back. “It’s not too late, there has to be places still open.”

Hubert frowns. “It’s freezing outside. And the movie is only halfway finished.”

“Never mind that, we stopped watching a while ago,” he responds. “And the more we wait, the more time is wasted. If the weather bothers you, you do not need to come along. I can search on my own.”

When he tries to stand again Hubert takes a hold of his hand, doesn’t let go. "Ferdinand."

"Is something wrong?"

“Stay with me,” Hubert says quietly this time. “We only have until the morning.”

The door is so close, maybe about ten steps away. He has a list of locations they have not yet visited ready at his fingertips. It takes less than a minute to put on his coat, his scarf, his boots, and gloves. It takes less than ten seconds to step into the hallway and lock the door. And, there are at least three logical reasons to leave that Hubert would agree with, but he doesn’t see a need to voice them – he is already given one good reason to stay inside. He allows himself to be guided back down to sit.

“Alright,” he says, and puts his head on Hubert’s shoulder again. The fire of determination is replaced by a different kind of burning.

The movie still plays, but it is nothing more than flashes of light and noise in the background as Ferdinand stares at the little maroon book on the table. He stares at the bent cover, the curling edge. Hubert has never taken out the little notes from the book, and the corners peek out from the back pages. Ferdinand is reminded what the hardest part of the day is, and he wonders why he was so eager to say goodbye before it was time.

“Do you hear that?” Ferdinand asks when the wind picks up.

“It’s too cold to go outside."

He closes his eyes and pays attention to the warmth against his cheek, the rise and fall of Hubert’s chest as he breathes. “It is.”

Hubert’s arm moves around Ferdinand’s shoulders to hold him closer. It is not a kiss when he presses his lips into Ferdinand's hair, but it still makes a thought cross his mind – a thought that he has been trying to ignore. He is afraid to break the promise.

I want Hubert to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never made a 'music for writing inspo' playlist, but I recently decided to try for this fic. It's neat! but sounds a lot sadder than I had anticipated LOL.  
> _(:3」∠)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this a shot!


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